


The Ones You Think You Love

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Balon is a terrible dad, Cameo Alannys Greyjoy appearance, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Idiots in Love, M/M, Robb's an idiot as usual, Theon makes good life choices, Theon's life always sucks, also a lot of fluff, this entire fic is wishful thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 17:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2200299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was nothing to Robb, and he was nothing to his family. Freedom had never been so bitter. <i>I stand at a crossroads</i>, Theon thought grimly, <i>yet both roads are equally unpleasant</i>. If he sided with Robb, he would lose his name, his family, everything that he could truly call his own. Worse, he'd likely become a hostage again to ensure Balon's good behaviour. Yet if he sided with his father and attacked the North, he would lose Robb forever, and as much as he tried to deny it, the thought stung.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ones You Think You Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janie_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/gifts).



> For @janie_tangerine  
> This was originally written for the got_exchange on LiveJournal. I added, revised, and rewrote almost all of this. (if you read the original, don't worry, the plot is still the same- I just removed a lot of awkward wordings.) 
> 
> Author's Note:  
> This takes place in an alternate universe which I've kept book!Theon's age the same (19) but aged up Robb so he's TV!Robb's age (17). To me it just made more sense. I also aged up Jeyne Westerling, who's also 17/18.

He would always remember how Robb had looked just before he left for Pyke and they parted for the last time. Robb’s auburn hair had glowed in the rising sun, and it seemed to Theon that he wore a crown of light. His face was solemn, and Theon realized with a heavy heart that the man who stood before him was the King in the North, not the Robb he knew. There was no goodbye exchanged, only a stiff “I’ll see you when you return” from the King, who watched solemnly as Theon swung up on his horse. He gave one last confident smile to Robb, and wheeled his horse around before kicking it into a gallop, filled with optimism and hope. He never once thought to look back.  

 

It was Theon who had refused to have a sending off. _It makes no sense_ , he told himself on that evening, long ago, as he dined one last time with the King in the North and his bannermen. _I will be back before it is too long_. Robb the king sat enthroned, bearing his heavy duty with a strength Theon could do naught but admire, with a smile on his lips that did not reach his eyes. _The king will barely notice I am gone._ Yet Theon had to grit his jaw as he wondered if Robb, the man, would miss his presence. _Surely not_. He forced himself to smile despite the terror that clawed at his heart. He was afraid that his courage would fail him when it came time to ride off to Pyke, and he would weep, or worse. 

 

The feast was continuing, loud and merry, as it always did, but Theon rose and left his place at the table, several places away from Robb. At first it had felt like a slight to be placed so far from his friend, but he knew better now. The king chose different bannermen to sit with him every night, and tonight it had not been Theon. There was little he could do. Besides, it was better if they were seen apart. Theon didn’t want people getting ideas. 

 

Theon felt Robb's eyes follow him as he left the Great Hall, but he paid no heed. He needed to find some quiet in the solace of the godswood. The autumn night was crisp, and the stars shone in the sky like shimmering pearls in a blue-black sea, the red comet a fish darting through the water. Closing the door to the castle behind him softly, Theon drew his hood over his head. Riverrun seemed almost deserted this late at night, and Theon felt almost at peace as he entered the godswood. The trees were brushed with silver moonlight, and the birds in the trees were still and silent, the only sound the gentle rush of the river. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, the sweet scent of the pines lingering in the air like a lover's perfume. Theon sank to his knees. _Please_ , he prayed to any god who would listen. He did not hold much faith with gods, but his mother had taught him to pray in times of need and he did. _Please let this be what I dream it will be. Please let this comet be a sign that for once fortune is in my favour, and I return to those who cast me out to reclaim the only thing that is truly mine. Please let it be so._

 

“I never thought you to be particularly devout,” a man's voice said, breaking the calm of the godswood. Theon's eyes snapped open and he rose abruptly to face Robb who stood before him, resplendent in his king's garb. Yet it was not the king's face he wore, but rather the face of Robb the boy. 

 

“What are you doing here?” he hissed, glancing around nervously. Thankfully no one was nearby, and he let out a sigh of relief. 

 

Robb placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I came to see how you were. You left rather quickly.”

 

Theon sighed. “I needed to be alone for a moment. I- I just needed to prepare myself for tomorrow.” He smiled brightly, but Robb's face remained serious. 

 

“Don't do that, Theon.”

 

“Don't do what, Robb?” 

 

Robb sighed and looked away. “Don't do the thing you do with the smiling. The more you smile, the more unhappy you truly are. Don't shake your head and tell me it isn't true. No- Theon, don't. I will listen if you want to talk about whatever is bothering you.” 

 

Theon's smile faded quickly. “No. Robb, I'd just rather not talk right now. I'm half sick of talking.” He bit his lip. “Could we- are you- your room? Now? Please?” he added in a small voice, hating himself for his hesitation. He was never this way with girls, but with Robb... Robb was different. Robb saw him for who he truly was sometimes, and it was both exhilarating and frightening.

 

“Come along, my lady. It's to bed with you then,” Robb said, elbowing Theon in the ribs. Theon scowled, but he couldn't hold it, and a smile broke through. Robb began to laugh, first softly, thenhe began to guffaw loudly until Theon shushed him, whereupon he merely giggled like a girl.

 

“Shut up. You sound like Sansa when you titter away like that,” hissed Theon, but it did no good. Robb continued to giggle loudly and Theon rolled his eyes at his friend’s idiocy. “Who's the lady now?” he added, tauntingly. 

 

Robb snorted. “Last time I checked I wasn't the one... you know, being tumbled, so to say. You're more of the lady than me.”

 

Theon went stony-faced. “That's not funny, Robb, and you know it. I've told you, don't make japes like that. I'm very-”

 

“Yes, yes, you're sensitive. My apologies for mocking you.” Robb Stark was- and always would be- the worst liar Theon knew. He was barely keeping a straight face, and Theon had to admit it was a little amusing to watch him try to lie. 

 

“No, you aren't sorry, and you know how I can tell? Your nostrils flare when you lie because you're trying not laugh.”

 

Robb tried to look aghast and failed. “I'm not lying!” 

 

Theon sighed, and began to chuckle. “Oh, just shut your big mouth before I shut it for you.” Robb grinned wickedly, but Theon ignored him. “We should go before someone finds us.” Robb opened his mouth to speak but Theon put a finger to his lips. “Just shut up. We can talk later. Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

 

They did not speak again, even when they reached Robb's room and began to undo each other's clothes with fervid hands. Although not one word was exchanged, both understood that they were saying farewell in a fashion, and let their mouths, hands, and bodies make up for all the words that hung heavy in the air, unsaid. 

 

After, in the stillness of the night, they lay together for a long time. Their arms were wrapped tight, Theon’s head resting on Robb’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The silence was almost deafening, but Theon could not say half the words he wanted to say. He breathed a sigh of relief when Robb finally broke the quiet. “I’m going to miss you,” he whispered into Theon's hair. 

 

Theon turned around and looked into Robb's face. _Gods he is beautiful_. He would never say that, of course. Instead, he just smirked like the cocky bastard everyone thought he was. “I know you will. There will be no one to prevent you from being an idiot. Gods be good, I’ll come back, and you’ll be exactly where you are now; you won’t have a clue what to do without me.” 

 

Robb shook his head and laughed softly. “Believe me, you’re taking all the stupidity with you to Pyke. You will return to find me on the Iron Throne, ruling over the Seven Kingdoms. And then I shall have to call you the Late Lord Greyjoy, who missed the most epic battle since Robert smote Rhaegar on the Trident.” Theon chuckled, but he clenched his jaw as he thought of what tomorrow would bring. When the moment came, Theon would not kiss Robb goodbye, nor hug him as if he would never let him go, nor even shake his hand. There would be no sign of affection between them: nothing to indicate that Theon was never happier than when he was by Robb’s side; nothing to indicate that Theon had lain with him as lovers do. Nothing to show that Theon felt a certain affection towards Robb, and that Robb was the only person who really mattered to him. He couldn't let other people see any of that. Robb knew Theon in a way no one else did, and if Theon had any hand in the matter, Robb would remain the only person who saw him as he truly was, who allowed him to be who Theon truly was without judgement. In return, Theon tried as best he could to ease Robb's burdens and was one of the few people who could make him smile and laugh. The thought of Robb trying to manage without him gripped Theon's heart with fear. 

 

“Robb… please don’t do anything incredibly idiotic,” he said suddenly, making Robb start. “Please. I don’t want you to die some horrible death without me there beside you to prevent it. Please… be careful. Know who your friends are.” His tone was pathetic. “Don't trust anyone.” 

 

 Robb kissed Theon's head. “Of course I will. You don't need to protect me as much as you think you do, you know,” he murmured. Theon cursed himself for feeling so desperate and weak. _Robb will be fine without you there to protect him,_ he thought. _He'll be safe here_.Yet still he clung to Robb as though he could protect him from all the dangers of the world, their limbs an entangled mess beneath the blankets. When he finally fell asleep, seemingly hours after Robb began to snore gently Theon's sleep was light and uneasy, for dreading the dawn when he would have to leave Robb and once again pretend they were no more than friends. 

 

The first birds had begun to sing when Theon gently slipped out of Robb’s warm embrace and pulled on his clothes. In his sleep, Robb looked half a boy, not like a king at all, and for a moment Theon felt a twinge of sadness. They had both been boys once, long ago, when the summer sun was still high in the sky and everything seemed good and new. When summer died, those carefree days died too, for winter was coming, and it was no place for boys.

 

As he was lacing up his breeches, Theon heard Robb stir behind him, and a hand roughly seize his wrist. 

 

“Robb, go back to sleep. You'll need every bit you can get,” Theon said calmly, trying to disguise his irritation. He could not afford to be found in Robb's bedchamber; too many questions would be raised and people would talk.  

 

“Theon... there's a letter on the table. Over there,” he said, unhanding Theon and waving vaguely in the direction of his bedside table. A sealed letter lay there, hastily folded and sealed. Theon picked it up and quickly tucked it away in his jerkin. “Read it when you get to Pyke.” Robb said in a thick voice. “Promise me.” 

 

Theon knelt and cupped Robb's cheek. His eyes were closed“Of course. Now go to sleep. I'll see you in a few hours.”

 

Robb's opened his eyes and looked into Theon's. His voice was pleading. “Theon, promise me you will return. I need you here. Will you promise? Will you be by my side, now and always?” 

 

Theon's breath caught in his throat. _Don't let him see._ He smiled sadly, and kissed Robb on the cheek. “Now and always,” he breathed. Robb smiled and gripped his arm.

 

“Come back to bed. We've still got a few hours.” Robb whispered. He stepped back as Robb tried to drag him back into the bed. Theon wanted nothing more than to undress and have Robb help him forget himself, but he could not. 

 

“I... I...I have to go,” he stammered. Robb looked crestfallen, but Theon could not dwell upon that. He turned away, his heart sick, and padded out of Robb's chamber and towards his own. As he dressed in fresh clothes, he found himself turning Robb's words and his promise over in his head. He knew Robb needed him, but in truth, he needed Robb just as much, perhaps even more.

 

\----

 

Theon paced his cold room impatiently, wide awake even though it was the middle of the night. He was bitter. He had long imagined his return to the Iron Islands to be one of triumph; the long-lost son returning at last to his eagerly awaiting family. What a folly that had been. This victorious return had been nothing more than a farce: from his father's plan to attack the North; to his irritatingly pious uncle; even to that girl on the _Myraham_ he’d made the mistake of bedding, who was probably praying that she carried his child. The last thing in the world he wanted was a bastard- he did not want a Jon Snow of his own. 

 

Theon regretted ever touching her. He had been trying to rid himself of Robb in a way, trying to prove to himself he was a real ironborn man. But every time she kissed him, or touched him, he found himself wishing it was Robb instead, and he found himself flinching at her touch for all the memories it brought back. He had always hated how willingly he came to Robb's bed, how easily he yielded to his touch; worst of all, how well their bodies fit together. Real men were supposed to be strong and dominating in bed, and desire women the way drunkards desire drink. Real men were not supposed to be weak and willing to lie on their backs or stomachs and be fucked by other men. It was unnatural, and he hated himself for finding happiness and pleasure when he lay with Robb. Robb had nothing to fear should their relationship be discovered- in truth he’d most likely be praised for buggering an ironborn. Theon knew he would be mocked endlessly, and judged for allowing Robb to fuck him. The prospect had always weighed heavily on his mind, and when he had finally parted from Robb, he had felt a certain relief. There was no way anyone on the Iron Islands would ever discover he had lain with Robb, and he could finally put that fear behind him. His song was just beginning, and it would only get better. Or so he had believed.

 

It had been less than three days, and in that time Theon could do little but watch as his dreams had crumbled to dust. His father had outright refused a beneficial treaty in favour of clinging to the Old Ways the way a drowning man clings to wreckage. Worse, he planned on attacking the North while Robb battled the Lannisters in the Riverlands. His dreary uncle seemed to believe that his sister would be chosen over him to rule the Iron Islands, and take the one thing that had always been his. He had been mocked, treated like an outsider, and worse, ignored. Yet despite all of their grievances the Greyjoys remained his family, like or not, and these shit-stained rocks they called islands were where he belonged. There was nothing for him in the North, except Robb. But Robb was not his: Robb was a king, and a king belongs to his people, not to a hostage. He was in all likelihood riding off to war, without a second thought for Theon. Theon, who had stood by Robb throughout everything that had conspired; who had even slain a man to save Robb and his crippled brother, an act that brought Theon nightmares for weeks, and scorn instead of gratitude. _He scolded me, as though I were a bad servant who burned stew, instead of someone who saved the lives of him and his brother. I should have at least won a smile, but all I received was anger._ While Theon sat alone in his frigid room, Robb was probably warming his bed with some eager maid, never once remembering that another had once lain beside him, who had almost loved him. _Almost. Not enough to give up my title._

 

He was nothing to Robb, and he was nothing to his family. Freedom had never been so bitter. _I stand at a crossroads_ , Theon thought grimly, _yet both roads are equally unpleasant._ If he sided with Robb, he would lose his name, his family, everything that he could truly call his own. Worse, he'd likely become a hostage again to ensure Balon's good behaviour. Yet if he sided with his father and attacked the North, he would lose Robb forever, and as much as he tried to deny it, the thought stung.

 

Far below his window he could hear the waves crashing against the cliffs. The black sky was bleeding where the comet slashed through it like a ragged cut. He'd thought it a herald of triumph, but now it seemed like a dreadful warning of death and sorrow. When he was a child, he'd often thought that comets and shooting stars were dragons flying far above the world and had often spent long nights staring out of his window hoping to catch a glimpse of one. He had told Robb this soon after he arrived in Winterfell, and together they spent many hours gazing up at the night sky, making up names for constellations and trying to spot the star dragons. Maester Luwin had eventually taught them about comets and shooting stars, but they still enjoyed spending nights watching the sky dance: the way the northern lights shimmered, the way the stars twirled, the way the shooting stars flitted through the dancers. It was there, on the top of one of Winterfell's many towers, that Theon had first kissed Robb. It had been after the enormous feast put on for King Robert and his entourage, at which Theon had been forced to endure talking to some southron idiot. He'd drunk the better part of a large jug of Arbor Red by the time the tables were pushed back and the musicians struck a lively reel, and was feeling merry as he grabbed Robb's sleeve and dragged him towards the stairs. 

 

“Let's watch the stars,” he'd slurred, and Robb laughed and agreed. The music could still be heard coming from the Great Hall far below as they reached the top of the tower. Far above them, the stars glittered, and the northern lights were a brilliant emerald green, shimmering mysteriously.

 

“You know, you're taking me away from dancing with fine southron maidens,” Robb said with a grin. 

 

Theon curtsied. “Would my lord care to dance?” he asked in a high mimicry of a girl's voice. He dropped his voice to its normal register.“You can't dance, and you know it. I, on the other hand, am gifted in the art of dancing. We Greyjoys are famed for being brave warriors, fearless sailors, and excellent dancers.”

 

Robb laughed. “You are not.” 

 

Theon pretended to look hurt. “We are! Do you doubt me? Here,” he said, and placed one hand on Robb's waist and another clasping Robb's own hand. “Listen to the music. _One_ , two, three; _one_ , two, three; _one_ , two, three. There, that's it. You have to feel it.” Robb's face was almost touching his, and it made his stomach flutter. “Yes, that's it,” he said quietly, and before he could let himself think he pressed his lips softly to Robb's. He tasted like wine and woodsmoke and raspberries, and it was as wondrous as he had imagined it always would be. Yet he pulled away abruptly. 

 

“Theon?” Robb asked, looking confused, his hand touching his mouth. “What...” Theon looked at him with sorrowful eyes and fled to his room. They did not speak about it ever again.

 

Less than a year had passed since that night, yet so much had changed. King Robert and Eddard Stark lay dead. Sansa and Arya were held captive by the Lannisters. Jon Snow had joined the Night's Watch and would not aid his brother's cause. Robb had been crowned king, and Theon had become his trusted friend, and lover, for a while, until Robb decided to send him like a trained raven to bow and scrape to Theon's own kin. He had even sent a letter, most likely filled with ineffectual promises to entice Theon into returning to Robb's side. It sat on the small desk in the corner of the room where it had sat since Theon arrived. _I should read it and put this foolish dreaming to an end. Like as not he writes to tell me that I'm a good fuck and he'll miss my warmth beside him._ He felt bitter as he picked it up and sat on the edge of the lumpy bed. _Just get it over with_ , he thought, as he snapped the grey seal and slowly unfolded the creamy parchment. The red light of the comet was bright enough to read by, and so Theon steeled himself and began.

 

_Theon_ , the letter began.

 

_I suppose you are in Pyke now. I thought I should write a letter to you so I can tell you all the things I could never say to you in person. It’s cowardly, I know. I suppose I think you need to know the truth about what I think of you._

 

_My mother believes you to be a traitor in the making, and doesn’t want me to send you to Pyke, let alone by yourself. I dismissed her concerns. I trust you, Theon, in all ways, and I know that you need to see your home. I truly regret that it has been this long since you saw your family; believe me, it was not your fault. You did nothing wrong, save being an unfortunate pawn in a game played by old men. I know the past ten years have not been easy: you’ve told me of how you feared being put to death if ever your father should rebel. Theon, I swear it on the old gods and the new, I would never have done that to you, even if there was another uprising. Even before, when my father lived, I would not have let you been killed. I would have fled with you to Braavos or one of the other free cities. You'll laugh, as you do, but I would have. Theon, I would give up my crown for you. As long as I live, I will try to keep you safe, as you have kept me safe._

 

_As you kept me safe that day in the woods. I realize I never thanked you for saving mine and my brother’s life when we were attacked by the wildlings. They would have killed us both, and you saved us. I’m sorry if it felt as though I was not grateful for your actions. I was scared, Theon, truly I was, and I lashed out at the one person who least deserved it. I had been frightened beyond belief in that moment. Bran is my brother, and I had already believed him dead once after his fall. I could not lose him again, especially without my mother or father there. I know you do not have the same fondness for him as I do, and yet you saved him nonetheless, and you saved me. You took a life to save us, which is no easy thing, and for that I owe you a tremendous debt._

 

_In short, I am not certain what I shall do without you. You have been by my side through everything that has happened, and without you there I am afraid I won’t know what to do. You stood by me when I was made king, when my father died, when I went to war for the first time. When all seemed dark, you were the star on the horizon who would show me the way. I bedded you not because I desired pleasure, but rather because it was only in your presence I felt as though I no longer needed to be the king everyone expected me to be. When you lie with me, I can forget everything and lose myself in you. You are my sanctuary, the closest thing I have to a home, and without you, I think I would be lost. I apologize- I sound more like Sansa right now than I should, but it is how I feel, as simple as that, and not for one moment do I expect the same from you._

 

_I know that you told me not to say farewell, as you would be back before I even noticed you were gone, but the truth is, Theon, I’m going to miss you more than you can imagine. Please come back to me._

 

_Yours, now and always,_

 

_Robb_

 

Theon blinked, and reread the letter, absorbing every word. It had to be a jape, it _had_ to be. Robb didn’t think of him so fondly. He couldn’t, could he? _Could he?_

 

He carefully folded up the letter and buried his head in his hands. _Oh Robb, I’ve been so blind. All these years, dreaming these bleak isles were where I belonged._ He did not belong here. The Iron Islands were no more his home than Winterfell had been. Though it was hard to admit, in truth Robb was the closest thing he had ever had to a home, and he had squandered that away on the hope of a dream that was quickly turning to shit in his hands. Theon curled up in bed, the letter clutched tight to his chest, feeling more alone than he had ever felt before.

 

\----

 

He wandered the halls of Pyke the next day, deep in thought, trying to devise a plan that would allow him to return to Robb without incurring the wrath of his father. He returned to his bedchamber at dusk, only to find he had been summoned to see his father in his solar in the Sea Tower, and most ominously, Robb’s letter gone. _I have merely misplaced it_ , he thought calmly, as he dressed in his plainest, dullest clothes, in the futile hope his father would think slightly more of him. He knew it was hopeless, but he had to try. 

 

Balon sat in a chair facing the fire when he opened the door to the solar, and did not look at his son, preferring the flames instead.  

 

“Father. You summoned me.” Theon dug his nails into his palm, suddenly nervous of why his father had asked for his presence. As a child, he had grown to fear when his father summoned him so formally as it meant he had done something bad. 

 

“Tell me truthfully, boy. To whom do you owe allegiance?” Balon's tone was flat, but there was no mistaking the subtle anger that lurked beneath it. “Tell me. Where does your allegiance lie? To your family, or to those who took you away and murdered your brothers?”

 

Theon swallowed hard. “I do not know what you mean. Father- why…” 

 

“It would seem the Stark boy trusts you very deeply. He sent you alone with an important message, did he not? He must have great faith in you. Surely he believes you are loyal to him in every way.” Balon had a letter in his hand and seemed distracted. _He summons me and yet he cannot be bothered to pay me attention_. It was frustrating.  

 

Theon tried again. “I have the king’s confidence in all ways. We… He trusts-”

 

“Confidence? Is that what you call it?” Balon's voice was filled with disgust, and Theon stepped back in fear as his father stood up from his chair, glowering, the letter in his hand. “Tell me, and answer me in truth: did the boy they call the Young Wolf force himself on you, or did you welcome him into your bed? Tell me!” Theon felt the blood drain from his face and he began to stammer. 

 

“How…I… Robb… the king and I are just…” His father's eyes narrowed and Theon felt suddenly very afraid. “How did you…” He glanced at the letter in his father’s hand and felt sick when he recognized the seal. _Robb's letter_. 

 

“Shall I read it to you? _When all seemed dark, you were the star on the horizon who would show me the way. I bedded you not because I desired pleasure, but rather because it was only in your presence I felt as though I no longer needed to be the king everyone expected me to be. When you lie with me, I can forget everything and lose myself in you._ Did he write these words?” His scorn was almost palpable. 

 

Theon bowed his head in shame, cheeks burning. Balon took a step towards him, but Theon did not move, frozen in fear and disgrace. He felt as though he had been turned to ice.

 

“So tell me now, boy. Where do your loyalties lie? To that boy for whom you spread your legs like a whore? He is not your king; I am, and I will not hear you speak of him as such in my presence. I see all too well where your allegiance is. It was clear I expected too much of you when I sent you away. The Starks have made you their whore, with the honour of one too.” 

 

“I was a _child_. You sent a child and expected him to be a man. How could I? I thought you had sent me away because you didn’t want me, because I was to blame for your failure of a rebellion! You were the one who bent the knee and let me be taken from you!” He remembered being a boy, pleading with his father to not be sent away. _Please Father, please don’t send me away. I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise._

 

A slap to his face sent him reeling and he clutched his face, his eyes stinging with tears. “You dare think I had a choice? Do you have any idea of the sacrifices I have made for you?” Balon was spitting, his face red with anger as he gestured wildly. “Pyke was besieged! Robert Baratheon never troubled himself with the murder of the Targaryen babes; he would not have thought twice about ordering the deaths of you and Asha. Eddard Stark, that man you admire so much, would have done it without question. And you dare imply I was weak to kneel? I knelt to save my family and my people, you insolent wretch, and this is how you repay me? By being a whore to the boy whose father killed your own kin?”

 

Theon began to cry silently, his mouth tasting of blood. His father’s anger was like a storm, threatening to break him down and drown him in sorrow and rage, but Theon knew he could not let Balon's words take hold. 

 

“This boy of yours is nothing. He will die, by his own hand no doubt, for he is proud and believes himself above everyone else. Do not delude yourself into believing he loves you; you are his hostage, not his lover, and he takes you into his bed not because he thinks of you as important, but rather because he can take you like a woman, and prove to those around him he is important, whilst you are weak and willing to please. You did not even fight him, when he fucked you for the first time, did you? You let him do as he wanted with you because you wanted him to like you. A real man would have fought back, but you're no man.” 

 

Theon shrank back, ashamed. The truth was, he had not fought off Robb when Robb had pressed his mouth against Theon’s in a valiant attempt of a kiss, one night long ago. When Robb’s hurried hands began to undress him, not once did he say no. When Robb had first slid a hand between his thighs and told Theon he needed him, Theon had obediently gotten on his hands and knees and did not tell Robb to stop, even when their clumsy but earnest coupling left him in discomfort. He had wanted to be with Robb, or so he thought, but now... _Did I really want him? Or did I think refusing him would have cost me?_ The doubt hung heavy in his mind, but it could not be true. _It is not true_. He had wanted to be with Robb, surely, for why else had he returned to Robb's bed two nights after they first lay together, or the night after that? He glanced up and noticed his father watching him with revulsion written clear on his face. 

 

“Get out of my sight. Leave, now.” Balon pointed to the door as though dismissing a dog, and Theon slunk away angrily, tears in his eyes. As he reached the door he looked once more at his father, who was crouched before the fire, feeding the letter to the flames which licked at the parchment eagerly. It made him angry, and Theon could not contain himself. 

 

“I lay with him me because I _loved_ him. How dare you tell me I was wrong.” He glared at his father, tears running down his cheeks.

 

Balon looked at Theon with utter contempt, and his voice became cold and deadly. “You disgust me. Leave, now.” He turned back toward the fire, and as he did so Theon heard his voice one last time. “You are no son of mine,” he said chillingly. Theon turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him. _And you are no father of mine_ , he thought bitterly. 

 

\----

 

Theon fled the Sea Tower, running as fast as his legs would carry him, until he found himself on the rope bridge between the towers. The salty air was thick with fog, and below his feet Theon could see the sea dash itself relentlessly against the unforgiving rocks. _A bit like me_ , he reflected, _throwing myself at dreams that will never come true, and being broken again and again._ He stopped to catch his breath, suddenly dizzy. He wanted to scream, to howl, to sob, to rage at the world that had given him such a cruel fate. It was unfair, so unjust, for there was no way in a thousand years he could make it back to Robb. He had no ship, no way of getting off the islands, save if he suddenly became loyal to his father, turning his cloak on the only person in the world it seemed who loved him. The only other choice he had was informing Robb of his father's refusal to aid the North, and remain on Pyke until he found a way to escape. Far below, the crash of the sea called to him, and Theon felt a pull. His hands clutching the rope, he leaned forwards, the rope bridge creaking as he did so. _It would be swift_ , he thought. The rocks were jagged, but if he landed on his head it would be over in a moment. _There is no dishonour in falling._ His foot slipped and he felt himself going forward. He'd leaned too far, there was no way he could stop. He suddenly panicked. This was no way to die. 

 

A hand reached out suddenly and gripped the back of his cloak, pulling him back from certain death. 

 

“My lord, be careful!” The voice belonged to a young woman, no more than twenty-five. Her eyes were wide in concern. “These bridges are often treacherous to those who are not familiar with them.” She was pretty, and even with her dark hair cut just below her ears and the garb of a man she maintained an air of femininity. Once, Theon would have flirted with her, but those days were long past. 

“Thank you for helping me,” he said curtly. “And who are you?” She smiled knowingly.

 

“Why, I am Esgred, my lord. Wife of Sigrid the shipwright. You must be Prince Theon. I'm on my way to see King Balon. Are you going there too?” she asked innocently. _Too sweetly_. There was something about the woman that Theon did not trust. He felt as though he should know her, but he wasn’t sure. 

 

Theon shook his head. “No. I hope you have good news. Gods know he could use it,” he said glumly.  

 

“Have sharp words been exchanged between you and your father, my prince? If so, do not take them to heart. Fathers often hide good intentions behind harsh words. It is the only way they know. Is there any way I can assist you?” Her voice was soothing, and she placed a hand upon his arm in a friendly manner. He shook her off angrily.

 

“Do not presume to know the affairs of my family, woman. Go to the king. Go! Leave!” Theon pointed to the Sea Tower and glared at her, but she looked unruffled. He really hated these confounded islands with all the people who expected him to be the person he wasn't. Theon knew in that moment that he had only one choice, like it or not. “Oh, and tell me where the ravens are kept. Is it still the Bloody Keep?” 

 

Esgred laughed merrily. “Indeed it is there. Farewell then, prince. Enjoy writing your letter.” She sauntered away with a confident swagger, but Theon did not watch her go. He turned and walked away from the Sea Tower, away from his father's anger, and towards the only thing that could possibly save him.

 

The halls of Pyke were as cold as the sea, and twice as dark. It was a long while before Theon found the ravenry. They were kept high up in the Bloody Keep, where a maester had tended them, once, but he was long gone away from this place, and the birds had been left to scavenge. Filthy perches littered the room, each one labeled in a spidery hand, bearing the name of where each bird had been trained to fly to. It was cold and damp in the room, and Theon shivered, more out of fear than chill. He weighed the letter in his hand, the ink still wet, and frowned. He should know better than to trust his secrets to a bird, but he had no choice. If his father found out- no, Balon wouldn’t. He couldn’t. 

 

_Robb_ , he had written:

 

_My father has refused the treaty, and burned it on a fire in a dramatic refusal. He plans to attack the North, and soon. He believes that he will be able to conquer the North after starving Winterfell out. Send troops immediately. I apologize for my poor information, but my father knows far too much about what happened between us, and he believes me to have betrayed my house. He read your letter, Robb, and accused me of whoring myself for you because I am weak. It's not true, Robb. I will explain when I see you again._

_I for my part will find a way to take the black. I will pretend to fight for my father, but then I will turn my cloak. I know it’s idiotic, Robb, but I have always had a feeling that you and I were destined to play this war on different sides. All I know is, I would rather die than fight you. Never forget that. I will see you again._

 

_Do not respond to this letter._

 

_Theon_

 

The ravens cawed in their perches, and Theon found the bird perched on the one marked _Riverrun_. Never had so much depended on one bird. It was old and its feathers were threadbare and tattered, but Theon had to believe that the letter would get to Robb. The alternative was too horrendous to consider. 

 

\----

Theon returned to his chamber only to discover a pair of guards outside of it, who informed him that his lord father wanted to make sure he didn’t wander. _First he casts me out, then he arrests me_ , Theon thought. _I believe unwanted dogs are treated better._

 

Dinner was cold cheese and hard bread, washed down with sour ale. Yet he barely noticed the food as it passed through his lips, for the worst part of being confined to his room was being alone with his thoughts. That night, as he lay in his cold room, he dreamt of holding Robb in his arms, and his heart hurt when he awoke and found himself alone. Day followed night followed day, and he soon began to fear he would go mad. _It is bad enough being confined, but it is altogether worse to be confined with one's thoughts and naught else._ On the fourth day of his solitary confinement, he heard a woman’s voice arguing with the guards and then a gentle tap on the door. 

 

“It’s locked,” he shouted, but the door was opened and the woman known as Esgred stepped in. She wore breeches and a jerkin again, and Theon wondered briefly if she owned any of her own clothing or simply wore her husband's. He was surprised. “How did you get in here? You’re a shipwright’s wife, Esgred, are you not?” Esgred smiled cockily at his irritation and closed the door behind her.  

 

“No, Esgred was Sigrin’s mother. Poor Esgred. I wonder how she would feel if I told you I was she… no matter. She is dead, regardless.” She grinned, and Theon reeled in horror as he finally recognized the woman who stood before him. _No_ , he thought. _It cannot be her_. ‘Esgred’ saw this and her grin grew even wider. 

 

“Hello, little brother. It’s been far too long.” Asha looked like a cat who had recently devoured a prize songbird. 

 

Theon was furious. “You’re the reason I am locked up in this forsaken cell! You told my- our- father that I was sending a letter!” 

 

Asha frowned. “I never told our father anything. When I saw him, he was ready to give you to the Drowned God. I told him it would be better to leave you in your room, that you would eventually see the truth, that you would eventually come around to realizing your true family is the most important. I know you hold a certain affection for the Stark boy- Father made it very clear- but I believe you know that we are your family. You are a Greyjoy of Pyke. Your ultimate loyalty should be to us.” 

 

Theon sat down and rubbed his eyes. He could almost imagine Robb standing beside him, telling him what to do. _Make her believe that you are on her side. Placate her. There’s plenty of time until you turn your cloak._  

 

He sighed, and looked at Asha as he spoke, trying to make himself sound as pitious as possible. “I know. It’s just difficult. I did what I did because I thought it would help me survive.” _Be who she wants you to be, and you will be allowed to get out of this thrice-damned mess_. “I suppose I should apologize to Father. I acted in an immature manner, and rejected our family in a moment of anger. I should never have done that. That letter I wrote- I told the Starks that we were going to attack the Westerlands and they should join us. Please, Asha, I made a terrible decision, but I know better now. I want to help our family, in any way possible.” 

 

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? You would turn your cloak on a lover so quickly?” 

 

“Robb Stark was never my lover. I warmed his bed.” That was not true, but Theon needed Asha on his side. 

 

“Hmph. Be that as it may, I think there's something you need to see before you really tell me whose side you're on. Be prepared to leave by tomorrow.” She seemed suspicious, and Theon felt worried. 

 

“Where are we going?” he asked quietly. Asha shook her head. 

 

“You will see. But be prepared. You need to really think this through before you pledge your loyalty to the wrong side of a war.” She frowned and wordlessly left the room, locking the door behind her. 

 

_Oh Robb. What have I done?_ Theon buried his head in his hands and sighed. 

 

\----

 

Ten Towers was just as Theon remembered it, rising tall and proud above the cliffs. He had been surprised when he had sighted the castle through the rain that had poured down in torrents ever since he left Pyke, earlier that morning. It was now late evening as the _Black Wind_ , Asha’s ship, dropped anchor and his sister forced him into a small boat which made to shore. Two of her men accompanied them: a fair-haired boy whom Asha called Qarl, who gazed at his sister with puppy-like adoration; and Tristifer Botley, who Theon remembered playing with as a child. He was not friendly now, merely looking at Theon with derision. _My sister has probably told him_ , Theon reflected as he sat across from Tris in the small rowboat. Exactly what she had told him Theon didn’t know, and it worried him. The other man did not speak once, and it was humiliating to be ignored. Japes he could stand, but silence… silence was a most unkind torture. Theon was thankful when the boat finally ground ashore and Tris leapt out, motioning for Theon to follow. He did so, and was greeted by his sister, who had alighted from the other boat. 

 

“Shall we go to the castle, little brother?” she said, sounding weary and irritated. Theon nodded, and Asha began up the path that led to Ten Towers. Her two men followed behind him, clearly there to prevent him running. _Where would I run to?_ There was nowhere to go. She led him up to the castle, and into its halls. They entered one of the many towers- Theon could not quite remember the name of which one it was, and dared not ask for fear he would sound ignorant. Asha led the way, Theon following at her heels. Finally, after many corridors and halls she stopped in front of an oak door. “Go in,” she commanded imperiously. Theon obeyed and turned the door’s handle. A stench reached his nose, and he wanted to retch. The room beyond smelled of sickness and despair, and it was as dark as the grave. Dark heavy curtains covered what little light came through the windows, and in the centre of the room hulked a great bed. In this bed lay a body. 

 

“What is this?” he asked Asha, but by then he knew. 

 

A feeble woman raised her head from the bed in which she lay. “Maron?” she croaked, her voice as dry and thin as a reed. 

 

A lump formed in Theon’s throat. “Mother?” he asked, incredulous. Asha closed the door behind him softly, leaving him in the sickly darkness, but it did not matter. He quickly crossed the room to where his mother lay, and knelt by the side of the bed, grasping one of her frail hands in his. 

 

“Theon?” she murmured softly. “Oh it’s you, it’s you, oh my boy, oh my baby. Oh I have missed you.” She began to cry, and it tore at Theon’s heart to see her like this. Alannys Greyjoy had once been a proud, fierce woman, but time had taken its toll on her and she remained but a shadow of her former self. Trembling, she raised her hands and placed them on his face, tracing his features with her slim fingers. “Oh it’s you, it’s really you. You’ve grown so much. You were a little boy when I last saw you. You were always so small…” 

 

Tears clouded his vision. “Mother…” he whispered, and his voice broke. 

 

“Theon? You’re home. It’s been so long. Oh, it’s been so, so long. You’re a man now, strong and tall. Are you married? Have you brought your bride to see me?” She looked so hopeful, and Theon felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. 

 

“Oh, mother…” he sobbed. He couldn’t tell her what happened. How could he? If Alannys discovered who he was, she would cast him out, she would hate him, and that was something he knew he could not bear. “I can’t tell you. You’ll hate me…” Theon mumbled. He felt his mother’s hand on his head, stroking his hair. It was too much. He had not realized how much he had missed his mother. Catelyn Stark had tried to play the mother from time to time, but she usually was scolding him for being a bad influence on Robb. _If only she knew_ , he though bitterly, _she would have demanded my head_. No, his mother could never know. 

 

Alannys paused in touching Theon’s hair and raised her head. Her eyes were full of indescribable pain. “No,” she said in a small voice. “I will never hate you, my child. I will love you until the day I die, and nothing you can do will change that. Tell me, my love.” 

 

Theon wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. “I made the mistake of loving someone I should not have, and it has cost me everything.” He broke down, and was unable to continue. Alannys continued to stroke his hair, murmuring quiet endearments. 

 

“Who was it that you loved?” she inquired. _I cannot tell her_ , Theon knew, but at the same time he could not let his mother think he was someone he wasn’t. 

 

He willed himself to have courage, and spoke. “I… he was- _is_ \- Robb… Robb Stark. The King in the North. I… my father wanted to attack the North, and I sent a letter to Robb, telling him I wouldn’t join my father. I love Robb, Mother, I do, I couldn’t turn my- my back on him but I… I don’t know what to do… Oh gods… Mother, what have I done? What should I do?” He expected her anger, her disgust, her repulsion, and was shaking as she touched his face ever so gently. Her kindness was the last thing he expected. 

 

“Oh my boy,” she breathed sadly, “does he love you?” Theon nodded, unable to speak. “Then what does it matter? If you love him, do what you think is right. I will always love you, dear heart, until the day I leave this world. Find your happiness in this world and cling to it with all your strength. There’s little enough to be found, but if you have found it make sure you never let it go.” A shadow passed over her face and her eyes seemed to be unfocused. “Theon?” Alannys whispered. He smiled gently at her, but she looked confused. “Oh my boy, it’s you. Oh it’s been so long… so long…” Fresh tears appeared in her eyes, and Theon’s heart sank. _She does not remember_ , he realized. 

 

“It’s me, mother. I’ve come back to see you…” Her hand touched his and he squeezed it, the bones as delicate as a bird’s. 

 

Asha returned several hours later to find Alannys asleep with Theon sitting by her side, watching her with sad eyes. 

 

“Now do you see, little brother?” she asked Theon, her eyes filled with sorrow. “This is what our family has become. Euron banished… Aeron half-mad… Mother- like this. We _need_ you, Theon. The wolves do not. They held you captive and kept you from your real family. They don’t need you by their side.”

 

_No, they do not. But Robb needs me._ Theon knew that, just as he knew he would cross the world to find Robb and keep him safe. His sister could never understand that, nor could his father, but it mattered little. A plan was forming in his mind, and he needed his sister on his side as much as possible in order for it to work. 

 

He rose from his mother’s bedside and faced Asha. “I am sorry,” he said wearily. “Please, Asha. I made a mistake, and I regret it. My mother… how could I turn away from our family? Please let me fight for our family. Please. I will do anything…” 

 

Theon noticed pride light up Asha’s face, but she dropped it quickly. Her face was stern, and she spoke to him as though he were an inferior, rather than a brother. It was irritating, but Theon knew better than to argue with her. 

 

“Then you should consider yourself lucky. I spoke with our father on your request, and you shall be allowed to help us in our effort against the North. However-” she paused to flash a dastardly grin, “you will be confined to your room on Pyke until it is time to depart. Against my better judgement, you will be given a ship, and will raid the Stony Shores. You will not be alone, for you will be accompanied by our uncle Aeron and Dagmer Cleftjaw. You are being placed in command, but I warn you it is name only. Prove yourself loyal, and you will be rewarded. Are we clear on that?”

 

Theon exhaled loudly. He hated what he was about to do, but it was what was necessary. “We are clear on that, sister. Thank you. Truly, thank you.” She smiled and shook her head. 

 

“Theon, I love you. I trust you to do what’s right. Don’t break that trust, baby brother. Please don’t.” Asha looked so downcast at the prospect that Theon almost felt sorry for her. She turned on her heel and left the room, leaving Theon to follow. 

 

“Goodbye, Mother,” he whispered to the sleeping woman in the bed. He kissed her forehead, as she had done so many times when he was a child, and as he left the room Theon was struck with the sickening feeling he might never see her again. The thought chilled him, but he dismissed it. There was too much to figure out, and not enough time. 

 

\----

 

Two days after returning from Harlaw he was rudely awoken by his dour uncle Aeron who barged into his chamber and barked at him to get up. Theon’s things were already packed, so he slipped into some clothes and was quickly escorted out of his room by his uncle and two guards before he even had time to awaken. It was unpleasant. The day was grey and miserable, made only more so by the presence of Aeron, who barely spoke with him as they rode to Lordsport. The harbour was bustling by the time he reached the dock and dismounted from his horse. 

 

Aeron stood behind him, silent and full of judgement. “Your ship is the one towards the end,” he said, pointing towards one of the smaller ships that were berthed. He strode forward with Theon following at his heels like a dog. It should be the other way around, but Theon knew he had to be on his utmost best behaviour. 

 

The longship’s name was painted in large gold letters on her long black hull. Although Theon couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the ship, the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. It had been named the _Wolf Bitch_ , which Asha had no doubt found endlessly amusing, but Theon did not. It was a cruel jape, but Theon knew it could have been worse. What was more unpleasant was the derisive glares he received from the crewmen lined up on the dock. He ignored them. There was little else to do. 

 

Aeron pulled Theon aside and spoke quietly into his ear. “Seven longships will accompany this one, but you will not leave this one without permission from either me or Dagmer Cleftjaw. One of us will always be with you in the unlikely event you get any ideas. Are we clear?” It was not a question, so Theon nodded. “Good,” his uncle said, before turning to Dagmer Cleftjaw. “Dagmer, I bring you my nephew Prince Theon, who is to be in command of this ship. Theon, greet Dagmer.” Theon became acutely aware of the fact his uncle was treating him like a child, and it did not sit well with him. Yet still he smiled pleasantly at Dagmer Cleftjaw, a great bear of a man, who had been more of a father to Theon than Balon Greyjoy ever had, and had been twice as fond of the lad. He stood before the bow of the _Wolf Bitch_ , yetas Theon approached, there was no fondness in the stern eyes that watched him. 

 

“We hear you’ve become a cocksucking whore for the wolves,” said Dagmer, looking Theon over disdainfully. Theon winced, but refused to let it show. _He merely seeks to anger me. I must not let him._ He stepped past Dagmer and toward where the rest of the crew stood, staring at him with suspicion and disgust. It was clear Asha had told them everything. _Curse her_ , thought Theon miserably. 

 

It was clear some of the sailors were uncomfortable with having Theon aboard the _Wolf Bitch_ , and wasted no time in voicing their opinion. “It’ll be as bad as having a woman on board,” asserted one, and several nodded in agreement.  

 

Aeron cleared his throat. “If that is so, it shall be up to the Drowned God to decide. Until then, I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself, if indeed you are capable of thought, which I doubt many of you are. It matters not. Whatever he may have done, this boy is the son of Balon Greyjoy. He may be weak, he may be idiotic, but he is still a Greyjoy. His sins will be judged by the Drowned God, not by his fellow man. That is final. What is dead may never die.”

 

“ _What is dead may never die._ ” echoed the crew. Grumbling, they set about making the _Wolf Bitch_ ready for sailing. Theon started to the gangplank, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

 

Aeron spoke softly, so as not to be overheard. “One last thing, boy. I know of your conversation with your father, and that letter of yours. You have erred grievously, and your sister believes you to be traitorous by nature. I shall be keeping a close eye on you, my boy, and you are to remain near this ship at all times until you have proven yourself. You may be a Greyjoy, but that will not stop me from letting the Drowned God have you if I must.”

 

Gods be good, Theon thought to himself as he boarded the ship. He had no doubt that Aeron would hold true to his word should he decide Theon was no longer useful, and the thought of drowning was not pleasant. The sooner he escaped this dreadful mess the better, but Theon knew he would have to come up with a cunning plan the likes of which had never before been devised. And time was running out. 

 

\----

 

It was clear from the start that the ironborn distrusted Theon, and ignored him most of the time, leaving him to sit by himself while they scurried to and fro on deck. In all his years, Theon had never had more people around him and yet been so alone. Try as he might, he found his thoughts increasingly drifting towards Robb: what he was doing, where he was, what he was thinking of. If he was alive, or wounded, or worst of all, dead. It kept him occupied through the day and into the night, when the some of the crew began to settle down for sleep. They slept out on the deck, under the stars, for there was nowhere else to go. Theon spread his blanket up against the bulwarks and lay down, trying to ignore the talk of the men. They were talking about him, of course, and it was distinctly unkind. 

 

“I hear he let the wolf take him like a woman,” one said. “Didn’t even stop him. Wanted it even.” “I heard he let the wolves all take turns, that way he’d live a comfortable life, being the whore of lords,” muttered another, laughing. “It’s disgusting. I’d rather die than let that happen to me,” spat a third. “We should just give him to the Drowned God and be done with it.”

 

Theon rolled over and pulled his blanket over his ears. These men raped women and took them as saltwives, yet saw men bedding one another as disgusting and vile. They would never understand. How could they? Theon sighed and wished he was anywhere else. He had always been so afraid of others finding out, and it had been just as terrible as he had imagined. At least he had not been given to the Drowned God. Yet. 

 

He remembered a night in the Riverlands, when they had set up camp in a grassy meadow. It had been late at night, and they had both been exhausted and weary from the endless talk of war. After Robb finished meeting with his bannermen, they had been walking back slowly through the camp together, too tired to talk, when Robb had slipped his fingers through Theon’s.

 

“What are you doing?” hissed Theon. Robb merely smiled and kissed his friend on the cheek. Theon shoved him away. 

 

“Stop!” Theon’s head darted from side to side, afraid someone had seen. “There are people, they could _see_! Stop it, Robb, what are you doing?” Thankfully, it appeared that most of the soldiers were huddled around fires, eating and talking, or sleeping in their tents, but Theon did not feel relieved. 

 

Robb moved away, visibly hurt, and they did not speak even after they entered Robb’s tent. Theon sat on Robb’s cot and buried his head in his hands. Robb sat beside him and rested his head on Theon’s shoulder. 

 

“What’s wrong?” he finally asked gently. Theon sighed, frustrated. 

 

“Robb, don’t do that in front of other people. Don’t act like that- like there’s something between us, in front of other people.”

 

Robb looked stung. “Why not? I’m the King, am I not? Surely…”

 

“You are the king, but I am your hostage. No, no, I’ll not hear you deny it. It’s a fact, like or not, and as such people may think that I am bedding you to gain favour. They would see only that you are the one who-” he blushed, uncharacteristically embarrassed, “-that I am the one who acts the part of the woman. It’s not that I don’t want to- Robb, I do, I like it- but people would only see me as being weak for being so… passive.” Robb opened his mouth to protest, but Theon continued. “I just want to keep this between us. Please. It’s easier this way.”

 

Robb nodded, and before he had a chance to start talking again Theon pressed his mouth to Robb’s and pulled him back onto the bed. There was a certain danger and excitement to making love amidst so many people, but they were quiet and after, exhausted, fell asleep entwined together, Robb’s head resting on Theon’s chest. In the quiet of the night all was peaceful, and Theon had felt happy and safe in a way he had not for a long time. 

 

They were both a long way from that now. Theon hadn’t felt happy or safe since he’d left Robb’s side, though he did not admit it easily. It had just been one long horrible nightmare from which he couldn’t awaken, from which there was no escape. Although Theon had never prayed much, if at all, now he prayed to any god that heard him, that he find a way to get to the Wall before it was too late. The cost of failure was too high. 

 

\----

 

The fishing village was raided quickly and quietly under the cover of darkness. Theon was forced to stay on the _Wolf Bitch_ , and resented every minute of it. Those were Robb’s people being slaughtered, and there was nothing he could do, except watch from the ship and hear the screams of the women.  

 

It was not until dawn that the reavers returned, triumphant in their victory. Benfred Tallheart and his Wild Hares had been sent to ward off the ironborn attackers, but filled with the overconfidence of youth and inexperience, and had failed to send a scout ahead. They had been singing and laughing when they were ambushed by the ironborn, who caught them in a snare like the hares they were. Theon paled and felt sick when he learned Tallheart had been sacrificed to the Drowned God on the orders of his uncle Aeron: he remembered Benfred fondly from when he had visited Winterfell, years ago now it seemed. _We were boys playing at being men._ They were boys no longer. 

 

_Winterfell_. Something about Winterfell made him think, and an idea came upon him as quickly as a summer squall. That was where he needed to go. It was clear that he would not be allowed to leave the ship for a battle, but if he convinced Dagmer to try to take some smaller target, such as Torrhen’s Square, it would draw out the majority of Winterfell’s force, and he could then try to take it with a small, swift force. _They always said I didn’t have a head for much, but I was good at thinking on my feet._ He thought about it for several minutes, trying to find the most appealing way to word the idea. Finally, Theon stood up from where he had been sitting, and approached Dagmer who stood at the helm, watching the sun rise. He strode as confidently as he could towards the big man. 

 

“Uncle?” he said, hoping that using his old nickname for the man would somehow sweeten Dagmer’s already low opinion of him. Dagmer merely grunted in response. No luck, it would seem.  

 

Theon chose his words carefully. “I find it difficult to believe that my father would let his best man simply reave fishing villages when he could cause so much more damage elsewhere.”

 

Dagmer grunted. “I am your father’s best man, and with good reason. He did not send me here to only reave, he sent me to keep an eye on you, should your heart turn craven. He had hoped you would prove your mettle in battle, but Aeron has decided that you are not worthy of raiding.” 

 

Theon grimaced, but he had to continue. He had little choice. He took a deep breath and continued. “The Northmen have already shown that they are overly cautious and want to strike before they themselves are struck. Your reputation as a fearsome ironborn warrior would draw out a large force, leaving their castles unguarded. And there is one castle in particular that would be ripe for the taking if we are careful.” Despite his rather bored appearance, Theon knew he had piqued Dagmer’s interest. Hopefully. “Winterfell is but lightly held. Robb Stark marches south with the majority of the North at his back. Winterfell's garrison is but small. Moreover, I know the castle like the back of my hand. With a force of no more than 20 men I could take it. If you attack Torrhen’s Square, Winterfell's garrison will march, and I can take the castle. Aeron can continue reaving the Stony Shore, as per my father's instructions.” 

 

Dagmer frowned. “And what do we gain with such a conquest?”

 

Theon forced a smile, hating himself for what he was about to say. “The whole of the North. The wealth of the Starks. Furthermore, the two remaining Stark boys are there, and would be valuable hostages to use against Robb Stark.” Dagmer still seemed unconvinced. “I spent many years in Winterfell. I know its grounds. I know Robb Stark, I know what he will do. If we hold his brothers, he will do almost anything to get them back.” 

 

Dagmer spat. “I know how well you know Robb Stark. Half the Iron Islands know. I don’t know why I should trust you, boy. You’ve brought shame upon your family. They have no reason to trust you, when you have let the enemy fuck you. How do we know you’re not going to lead us into some trap? Don’t deny it. Besides, we ironborn are not made for sieges. We are reavers, raiders. And yet… what you say would make sense. If I were to send my twenty best men with you, there’s no reason why you would cause them to fail, and moreover, they could kill you on the spot should anything happen. You could act as a guide, and they would do the dirty work. Yes, that would work…” He paused for several moments. A man like Dagmer Cleftjaw thought at the rate of a slug, but eventually he would find his conclusion, although sometimes it would be years in the making. “Fine. I shall talk to your uncle. But may the Drowned God help you, boy, if this should fail, or you should turn your cloak. I’ll have you dragged back to Pyke in an instant, and you will regret you ever lived.” Theon swallowed. He could not fail. There was too much at stake. 

 

\----

 

It was easy in the end, too easy, to leave the ships behind and ride to Winterfell. Aeron agreed, on the condition that he select the twenty best men to travel to Winterfell with Theon. They watched him constantly as they rode, travelling by day and sleeping at night, and never travelling on the roads. He considered riding at night, but the ironborn refused on the principle of honour. “We ironborn are not sneak thieves in the night. We ride by day or we do not ride at all,” one of them, a giant of a man, had told Theon in threatening tones. So it was by day they travelled, riding as swiftly as they dared over hill and dale. 

 

Theon relished in being a better rider than all the other raiders, but it was the only thing that brought him enjoyment during those long days, for the further east they rode the more Theon recognized his surroundings, and the more it reminded him of Robb. By the fourth day they had entered into the green lands where he and Robb had once roamed together. It was not long before Theon found himself recognizing the places he’d once tread, long ago. That vale was the place Robb’s horse had thrown a shoe one day as they hunted together. There in the woods was where, on a ride they had taken shortly after Bran’s fall, Theon had passionately kissed Robb, pressing him up against the trunk of the tall grey green sentinel. The land held memories for Theon, and it was both a blessing and a curse. He had never realized before how much Robb was the North to him, for he remembered these lands far more beautiful than they seemed. Somehow all the beauty of the North had gone south with its king, and it saddened him. 

 

They neared Winterfell early in the afternoon of the sixth day and stopped in the woods within sight of its walls. Some of the men wanted to light a fire, but Theon stopped them. He did not want to be seen, not there, not then, not until he solved the problem of how to not capture Winterfell. His head was beginning to hurt with all the details, yet still his men stared at him expectantly until one of them decided enough was enough.

 

“So, Lady Wolf, when are we to attack this den that you seem so fond of?” one of them asked. Theon heard a few laughs, but ignored it. He tried to imagine what Robb would do, and decided that sounding as cold and detached as possible would be a good idea.  

 

“You will swim the moat and climb the walls. I want this to be bloodless, understood? Knock them out if needs must, but I want that castle without a single life lost, from our side or theirs. Be as quiet as you can, and I want no man to touch anything, be it gold or women, until I have told you to. I will remain here with a small party and the horses, and you will open the gates for us. Do I make myself clear? We attack at dusk.” The men nodded in agreement, somewhat resentful. Ironmen were not the type for sneaking and skulking, but they had little choice.  

 

Dusk finally fell, and Theon felt like retching as he sat atop his horse watching the castle from afar. Waiting was by far the most difficult part of battle, he had learned. Remembering that dreadful silence before Robb’s battle cry roused his men still made Theon’s heart race and his head pound. The reality of war was far different from the stories of old. He had always dreamt of winning glory in battle, but in the midst of the fray, his only wish was to protect Robb from harm.  

 

_Am I protecting him now?_ he wondered, _as I lay siege to his home and attack his brothers? Am I doing this for myself, or for him? I should never have left his side._ Winterfell looked as it always did- as hard and unforgiving as the lands around it, just as it had lo those many years ago, when summer had just begun, and he had been taken from Pyke.

 

He remembered that day, and the little boy who had been so fearful as he rode on his tiny pony behind Eddard Stark, who looking every part the mighty warrior on his black stallion. It had been sunny and warm, and there were few clouds in the sky as they rode over the grassy hills, but Theon barely noticed any of it. A thousand questions were burning in his mind, but he was too terrified to ask the forbidding lord who rode ahead of him. Although Lord Stark had not been unkind, Theon noticed that he spoke to him with an air of disdain, as though Theon was the one who had rebelled, not his father. Theon worried that the other children that Lord Stark spoke of would treat him the same: Robb, the eldest; Sansa, who Eddard had spoken of with such fondness; baby Arya, who was already trouble; and then Jon, Ned's bastard. Theon was nervous about living with other children. He had grown up with a few children, but Theon had been too shy to make friends with them. He had lived in fear of his older brothers Rodrik and Maron, who mocked Theon endlessly and left him black and blue when he tried to fight back. The only other child he really loved was Asha, but she was always running wild, and he could never keep up with her, though that had never stopped him from trying.  

 

When they had finally ridden into Winterfell’s courtyard, he had nearly pissed himself from fright. A rider had been sent before them and the entire household was assembled, and every eye was on Theon. Ned swung down from his horse, embraced his wife, and then gestured to Theon, who sat frozen on his pony, not even blinking.

 

“I introduce my new ward, Theon of House Greyjoy. Theon, this is Lady Catelyn Stark, my wife. She is to be like a mother to you, and you will obey her in all ways.” He turned to his children, and ruffled Robb's red curly hair. “And these rascals are Robb, Sansa, and Arya, my trueborn children, and Jon Snow, my natural-born son.” Robb broadly smiled at Theon, as though he were his new best friend, and not the son of his father's enemy. Sansa looked at him solemnly, and Jon looked morose, as he always did. Arya babbled in her mother's arms, not paying attention. Ned beckoned to Theon. “Now come on down off that pony, and meet your new family.” Theon tried, but as he dismounted his strength abandoned him and he fell off unceremoniously, landing hard on his back. He heard Lord Stark sigh, and a few servants titter. Tears welled up in his eyes and he almost cried, but a voice stopped him. 

 

“Need a hand?” a small voice inquired, and a hand was held out. He gratefully accepted it, and was pulled up, only to find himself staring into the eyes of the young boy called Robb Stark. Instantly he recoiled as though he had been burned. Robb grinned, and grabbed his hand again.

 

“Come on,” he said, dragging a reluctant Theon along as Catelyn Stark looked on with suspicious eyes. “There’s a lot to show you, and it will be supper soon.” 

 

Theon was loathe to admit it, but he would always remember that moment as when he began to fall in love with Robb Stark. Robb was the only person who did not treat him as though he were a hostage; whilst everyone else in Winterfell seemed determined to always remind Theon of his place, in Robb’s mind, everyone was the same and deserved the same amount of respect, and for that Theon admired him. Now, many years later, he still held the same affection for Robb and would do anything to protect him or those he loved, even if that meant turning his cloak on his family and dooming himself to a life of solitude. He could not stay in Winterfell; the Northern lords would not take kindly to him being there, so it had to be the Wall. 

 

He was roused out of his reverie by one of the men. “So, Lady Wolf, when are we going to attack this place, or are we going to stay here until our hair turns white and our teeth fall out?” Theon frowned, but did his best to hide his frustration. He was sick of the endless japes made at his expense. It seemed as though they wished to provoke him, but he could not let them. _I must not let them see_ , he thought. _They must not know how much their words sting._

 

Theon nodded and gave them a signal with a sick heart. Slowly, twelve men crept out from the cover of the forest and headed to the castle, carrying only grapnels and weapons. Theon’s horse stirred beneath him, and he quietened it with a hand. The night air was crisp, and he shivered in his cloak. It would be a long night, and he could only hope that he would see the light of day. 

 

\----

 

Bran Stark was still sleeping when Theon entered his bedchamber in the early hours of the morn, exhausted and feeling ill. He roused Bran gently with a nudge, then stood back, uncertain of what to do. Winterfell had been been taken mere hours before. The attack had been quiet and quick, and the gates had been opened as the stars began to fade in the night sky. Unfortunately his men had not obeyed him in all ways, and several guards lay where they had been cut down. Yet Theon was lucky, for the men had attacked the lightest held posts, allowing the remainder of Winterfell's force to group and circle the ironborn invaders with bristling spears. Theon surrendered and agreed to take the black there and then.

 

“Fucking turncloak cunt!” one had yelled, his eyes burning with hatred. Another spat at his face, the spittle landing on Theon’s cheek. He instinctively flinched and raised a hand to it, and was treated to the sound of mocking laughter. They cussed loudly as they were hauled away, but Theon had tried to pay them no mind. A guard had quickly appeared to escort him to Maester Luwin's tower as he had requested. The maester was surprised and confused to see Theon, and his confusion only deepened when Theon told him of what had passed, but nonetheless allowed Theon to write a letter to Robb.

 

“I think that you will find you have made the best decision,” Luwin said in the soft voice he had as Theon handed him the parchment. “Taking the black is a most noble course of action. Whatever your reasons were for this foolhardy attempt, you have taken the higher road per say, and have not succumbed to the lust for glory that so many men do.” Theon gritted his teeth, but could not help but agree with the old man. _I had to do this_ , he had told himself. 

 

He had made his way to Bran’s room, a guard at his side, treading the path Robb had taken many a time after Bran’s fall and his parents’ departure. He always went alone, no matter how often Theon insisted on going with him. It wasn’t easy for him; Robb would return with traces of tears on his cheeks and a pain in his eyes that Theon could not kiss or make Robb laugh away. It had been a difficult time for them both. 

 

Bran never recovered- how could he? The boy was lucky to be alive, but Theon almost wondered if it would have been a mercy to die, rather than to be trapped in his own body, as he looked at the boy. Bran lay as stiff as a corpse in his bed, his legs unnaturally straight as he slumbered. Yet when Theon nudged him once more, he awoke with a very alive and undignified grunt. 

 

“Robb?” he muttered, still half-asleep, looking up at Theon through bleary eyes. Theon shook his head. “Theon? What are you doing here? Where’s Robb? Where’s Mother?” He looked around the room desperately for a familiar face, and Theon’s heart broke when he saw Bran realize there was no one else there. 

 

Theon smiled grimly. “It’s just me, Bran. I’ve captured Winterfell.”

 

Bran pulled himself up, as far as he could, now fully awake. He looked furious and upset at the news. “How? You couldn’t… you wouldn’t dare! You traitor! You turncloak!” He clenched the bedclothes in his hands and looked frustrated that he could not punch Theon in the face. 

 

Theon reached out his hands in a gesture of peace. “Please,” he pleaded, sounding far more pathetic than a conqueror should. “Bran, please, hear me out. It’s a long story and rather complicated. Please listen.” Bran still looked furious, but Theon tried to ignore it. He took a deep breath. “I was fighting with Robb in the Riverlands, when Robb decided I should be sent as an envoy to the Iron Islands to treat with my father. My father refused the offer Robb gave him, and I was forced to raid the Stony Shores with my uncle and another man, who would keep watch over me. I needed to escape, so I tricked my uncle into letting me attack Winterfell. I rode here with 20 men, and they scaled the walls, and opened the gate to me. I conquered Winterfell, Bran, but not for me. I did it for Robb.”

 

He would have found Bran’s reaction comical had the situation not been as serious as it was. The boy’s eyes went as wide as saucers, and his jaw dropped. He scoffed at Theon. “Wh..what? For Robb? Are you a moron? You cannot capture your own castle!” 

 

Theon shook his head. “I have turned my cloak on my own family, Bran. I would rather die than fight your family, truly. The ironborn who helped me take this castle now sit in its dungeons, where I ordered the guards to put them. I have sent your brother a letter, detailing what happened here tonight. I, for my part, will take the black. Please, Bran, I am truly sorry.” He sighed buried his head in his hands, feeling utterly wretched.

 

Bran laughed sadly. He sounded much more like a lord than the boy he truly was. “You conquered an entire castle to save your own skin? You are truly mad, Greyjoy. Go, take the black if you will. You will be remembered as a turncloak for this, like or not. Now leave me. You disturbed my sleep.” He pulled the blankets up under his chin and closed his eyes. Uncertain of what to do, Theon backed slowly out of the room, nearly tripping over his own feet, until he had found the door, and then turned on his heel and bolted from the chamber. His mind was in a turmoil. _What have I done? Have I saved Winterfell for Robb or for me?_ There was no time to think on it. He had to get to the Wall. 

 

His horse was waiting for him in the yard, along with two other men, already seated on their horses.They were both guards- that much was clear from their garb- and Theon recognized their faces. But if they knew him from before, they made no mention of it, and Theon noticed one of the guard's eyes watching him with suspicion. It made him uncomfortable, but he tried to ignore it as best as he could as he mounted his horse. The Wall was two week's ride away. He wouldn't fail now. He couldn’t.

 

\----

 

Theon had suffered from nightmares for as long as he could remember. Most times, he dreamt of Pyke burning, and would wake screaming to find Robb holding him until the panicking stopped. The closer he got to the Wall, the more vivid and terrible his dreams became. Five days from the Wall, a terrible dream came to him, worse than any other in his life.

 

He dreamt of a great wedding feast in Winterfell, and his heart sank as he realized whose feast it was. Robb was as beautiful as ever, a new, handsome crown adorning his brow, his eyes only for his new wife, a delicate slip of a girl with dark brown hair who laughed at everything her new husband said. Theon felt empty as he watched Robb tenderly kiss the girl like he had once kissed Theon. Seated beside the happy couple, Robb’s guard sat, loudly talking with Catelyn Stark, who looked happier than she had in years. Yet there was something gravely wrong, though Theon did not know what. Then he saw it in an instant: shadows in the shapes of friends oozed out of the walls carrying knives of smoke. He tried to call out, but his voice failed him, and he was forced to watch as the shadow men slew first Robb’s guard, then Robb’s bride, then Catelyn Stark herself. They surrounded Robb, who had drawn his sword and tried to battle them, but it was no use, for shadows cannot be killed. Blood ran down Robb’s face, and his eyes were wide in terror. Like the calm before a tidal wave the shadow men cleared for a moment, before rushing back like a smoke grey sea. As they reached Robb he vanished, and Theon watched as Winterfell began to burn, the roof aflame, the stones turning red, then white, in the heat. The inferno continued for what felt like a thousand years, until it finally cleared away into black smoke, thick and choking. Robb was nowhere to be seen, but through the smoke, Theon saw an old man, covered in blood. The man began to walk towards him: a slow, injured gait. He looked utterly broken in spirit, hunched over with pain as he cradled his hands, which Theon realized to his horror were missing fingers. The old man slowly raised his head, and as he did so Theon froze, for the eyes that met him were his own, but there was a pain beyond description in them. 

 

“I should have died with him,” the other man croaked with a damaged voice, and he pointed to Theon's arms. Slowly, frightened, Theon looked down and saw with terror he cradled Robb's bloodied body. His eyes were glassed open, but still open, and they stared at Theon with hatred and accusation. _I should have died with him..._

 

Theon awoke with a scream, and sobbed as though his heart would break as he stared at the silver stars far above him. _Robb..._ He prayed that what he had dreamt had been a vision of what could have been, not what was to come. He did not sleep for the rest of the night, and when day came he found himself unable to get the dream out of his head, for every time he closed his eyes even briefly, he saw himself as he had in his dream: completely and utterly broken. Worse, he saw Robb’s dead gaze. The thought of Robb dying hating him filled him with a nameless terror. It frightened him, and he did not sleep easily that night, nor the night after that. 

 

On the morning of the fifteenth day after they had set out from Winterfell they finally sighted the Wall. Theon rode in front of the guards, and as he came over the crest of a hill alone his eyes were met with the most wondrous and awful sight. There, off in the distance, glittered the great expanse of the Wall, looming seven hundred feet high over the gentle rolling plains, and stretching as far as the eye could see from east to west. His breath caught, and he gazed upon it, awestruck. He suddenly felt very fearful. _Is this to be my life? The end of the world, defending the realms of men against wildlings? Is this the price of my freedom?_ He shook his head. He was doing this for Robb, he reminded himself. Robb was the only one that mattered in the end. 

 

\----

 

Jeyne Westerling was as beautiful as the summer sky, Robb thought. She was gentle, sweet, devoted and demure, and Robb knew that he should think himself the luckiest man in the world to have her for his wife. Yet in the quiet of the night, when she slumbered quietly in his arms, he could not help but remember another who had once loudly snored beside him. That person had been the opposite of Jeyne in every way: crude, irritating, unreliable and obnoxiously loud, but Robb had loved him all the same. _Did I really ever love Theon, or was I in love with the idea of being in love?_ Yet if what he had with Jeyne was love, he was not so sure that love was as wonderful and exciting as the songs always made it seem. Theirs was a quiet, dedicated love, and even though Jeyne was everything Robb knew he should want, there was something missing. They were sensible with their love, only showing affection when they were in private, making love twice a day in the hopes Jeyne would get with child but for no other reason. She gasped and giggled innocently in bed, unlike the filthy moans he had once coaxed out of the other person he had lain with long before. It was not bad, just… different. There was no madness to their love: no kissing each other breathless in the corridors during brief moments between councils and discussions; no wandering hands under the dinner table that threatened to make Robb laugh; no sneaking off to fuck in the godswood under the stars, wildly scrambling back to the castle when someone almost chanced upon them. _That was a different time, with a different person._ But Robb could not escape the memory of Theon, for even when he made love with Jeyne he found himself remembering a different body that once lay beneath his own.  

 

After Theon left for Pyke Robb had tried to put their relationship, whatever it had been, behind him. It wasn't natural for men to lie together in that way, the septons always said, for it went against the natural order of the world. This hadn't stopped Robb that first night when Theon had first pressed his mouth to Robb’s after too much wine; nor weeks later, the night before he rode to war for the first time, and he found himself outside Theon's door. He had only wanted to talk, but his fears and desires had overcome him, and he found his lips touching Theon's own before he could think about what he was doing. He expected Theon to be angry, to push him away, to tell him that he was crazy. What Robb did not expect was for Theon to smile, stroke his cheek, and tell him that he needed to learn to kiss better but that it was a solid effort.

 

Robb had looked down at his feet, and tried to calm the terror that threatened to overwhelm him. “I've just... Theon, I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'm not able to be the lord that everyone wants me to be. I'm afraid I'm not clever enough, or brave enough, or wise enough. I'm afraid I'll go to my death knowing how to kill but not knowing how to love...” He trailed off, uncertain of what he was saying and looked at Theon, who watched him intently. Robb felt an embarrassing stir of desire as he looked his friend over. Theon was too handsome for his own good, Robb had always thought, tall and lean with gently curling black hair and big brown eyes, almost eerily beautiful. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way about Theon, but he did. Before he could stop himself Robb's mouth had pressed lightly against Theon’s lips. He thought Theon would push him away, but instead he was met with Theon kissing back with far more skill than his own. It felt wrong, for two men to behave like this, but it had also never felt more right. 

 

Theon did not object when Robb kissed him harder and more desperate than before, nor when his hands began to undress them both, nor when he pushed Theon onto the bed and climbed between his legs. When he whispered to Theon that he needed him that night, Theon had nodded wordlessly and rolled onto his stomach without complaint. They should have taken it slower and more carefully, but they had both been so afraid and exhilarated they did not have time to think. They knew little of anything beyond a crude idea of how men bedded one another, and it had been rushed and painful. Robb felt horrible for the latter, but Theon had told him to being such a huge idiot about the whole matter and to stop apologizing. Robb had broken down and wept then, and Theon held him until his tears dried. As they lay side-by-side on that first night, Robb felt a sense of relief and calm he had not felt since his father left for King's Landing, and when the first light came it seemed too soon. He thought that was to be it, one night of passion, but when Theon entered his tent two nights later, and the night after, and the one after that, it soon became clear that this was more than just a one-off. _War does strange things to the desires of men_ , Robb told himself, but some part of him refused to believe it was merely about warming each other's beds. Robb knew Theon could never love him back, for how could Theon love the son of the man who kept him hostage for so many years? It was impossible. Yet he had stubbornly clung to that hope for so long, until it was clear it couldn’t be true.

 

He had been wounded by an arrow in the siege for the Crag, a small castle in the Westerlands. It was a small wound, but the maester had feared infection and so he had been confined to bed for several days. Being the king, he had been given the room of the eldest daughter of the family, a maiden named Jeyne, who also tended him. Robb had never been in a girl’s room before, save his sisters’ rooms, and when he wasn’t feverish he found it rather fascinating. He was rather ashamed to admit what little experience he had with women, and Jeyne was very comely and interesting. She brought him everything: meals, washcloths, news from his men. It was Jeyne who, on the third day after his injury, brought him the letter with shaking hands and a grave face. It had told him of ironborn attacks on the North, and worst of all, the raid on Winterfell. His heart had grown cold and he barely contained his sorrow and rage as he read that the ironborn who had led the daring raid against Winterfell had been none other than Theon Greyjoy. He had crumpled the letter up and thrown it at the wall, frightening Jeyne as he yelled in frustration. It appeared as though Theon had tried and failed to capture the castle, and thus had been forced to take the black or face death. He chose the coward’s way out, and had been taken to Castle Black where he was to remain for the remained of his years. _He should have been man enough to accept his fate at the executioner’s block_ , Robb had thought bitterly. It was clear now he had been a fool to think that a craven turncloak such as Theon could ever love him. The thought of Theon turning his cloak against Robb was more painful than the arrow that pierced his side, but it had happened. When Jeyne offered herself, body and soul, to comfort him, he said yes without hesitation.

 

Their first time together had been sweet: slow and patient, all the things that Robb's first time with Theon had not been. He took his time with Jeyne and let her have her pleasure before he had his. It had been bewildering and wonderful for them both, but in the morning, she had cried when she could not find blood on the bed, convinced that Robb thought her to not have been a maiden. He had kissed her then and reassured her that he trusted her to be a woman of her word, yet his heart grew heavy as he realized what he had to do to maintain her honour. _I should never have taken her to bed,_ he thought as he kissed her head. _Love makes fools of us all._ There was little he could do but be a man of honour, and so he married her in quiet that very day in the small sept of the Crag. It was simple and sweet and as they exchanged vows she looked so happy it nearly broke his heart for he realized he could never love her as much as she loved him. _I must try. She deserves a devoted husband who will love her all her days and be true to her._ His days with Theon were behind him, for the man who he thought he had loved once had betrayed him and would have perhaps even tried to kill Robb’s innocent little brothers given the chance. _I should have killed him when I had the chance, instead of taking him to my bed as though I loved him_ , he thought bitterly, but it was no use. He _had_ thought he loved Theon, and he’d thought Theon felt the same about him. He was foolish to think so, but he had been a boy when they were together and did not know better. Yet Robb still couldn’t shake the feeling that he had it all backwards, and it often bothered him.

 

He had been married to Jeyne for nigh on three weeks when the letter arrived. Robb sat in his solar in Riverrun watching as the rain poured down outside his window. It was a miserable day and it matched his sour mood as he watched his mother, sitting stiffly in the chair opposite him. 

 

“Robb, what made you do it?” Her tone was not unkind, but Robb sensed the irritation that lay underneath her words. This was the fourth interrogation this week with regards to his marriage to Jeyne Westerling. “Why did you marry that Westerling girl? The Greyjoy boy was one thing,” Robb froze but his mother continued. “But _marrying_ the girl after taking her to bed? What were you thinking? We have lost the alliance of the Freys, and with the ironborn holding Moat Cailin, we need the Freys’ support more than ever.” 

 

Robb narrowed his eyes in suspicion, ignoring the rest of what she was saying. “What do you mean by 'the Greyjoy boy'?” Surely his mother didn't know about that, how could she? _We were always careful. I thought no one knew._ Theon had always been so fearful of their relationship being uncovered, and Robb had done his best to ensure that it was hidden. It was stupid, he realized now, to have done so. He should never have bedded the traitorous lying bastard. 

 

Catelyn shook her head and smiled sadly at Robb. “A mother always knows. I saw the way he looked at you, and the way you looked back, and I knew it was more than a look between friends. One evening I sought you in your chambers, thinking you alone, but I heard the sounds of love... of people in bed together. At first I thought you were with a woman, but I recognized the other voice.” Robb turned red, but Catelyn paid no mind. “I did not approve, but there was little I could do. You are a king, and you may take to bed who you please. All I could do was minimize the number of people who knew, and truly, it was no easy task for me. Thankfully, that mistake is in the past. Yet now wedding a woman while you are betrothed to another? Robb, this is a serious error on your part. As I said...” 

 

Robb buried his face in his hands. This was humiliating. “Oh gods... I was lost, Mother. I did not know what I was-” A knock on the door made him stop abruptly and he glanced up. Catelyn rose and opened the door, and spoke quietly with the man on the other side. When she turned, a letter was in her hand, and her face was pale. She handed it to him with trembling hands. 

 

“It's from Winterfell...” Catelyn said, and covered her mouth. Robb accepted it, and looked it over. _Dark wings, dark words._ His fingers began to shake as he broke the seal, and he almost dropped the letter as he recognized the writing. _Theon._ He shouldn’t read a single word from the bastard, but he knew he needed to lay this ghost to rest. 

 

“Is it Bran? Is something amiss? Are they still in control of Winterfell?” His mother's voice was strained. Robb shook his head and began to read the letter. 

 

_Robb-_

 

_I do not know if my last letter reached you. I sent a raven from Pyke, telling you to mobilize your army and return to the North. I am sorry I could not write after that, but my father confined me to my chamber, until I agreed to side with our family, which I did, as per my letter. I thought that I would be given a ship to command, and then when I reached the North I could turn my cloak and take the black._

 

_It did not turn out that way. My father did not trust me in the slightest and placed me under the supervision of my uncle and his own best man. I was not even allowed off the ships when they harried the Stony Shore. They did not trust me on the basis of how well I knew you, and mostly ignored me. I did the only thing I could: I convinced my uncle to continue raiding the fishing villages, and Dagmer, my father's man, to attack Torrhen's Square. I, for my part, would attack Winterfell directly with 20 men. They agreed to this, but sent their twenty fiercest men along with me, with direct orders to kill me if I fled or showed any signs of turning my cloak. I did not dare do so before we reached Winterfell, but when we arrived I directed my men to climb the walls where I knew guards would see them. We were surrounded as soon as we entered the castle. I surrendered immediately, and agreed to take the black. I will join the Night's Watch, Robb, and will join Jon at Castle Black._

 

_I am sorry I cannot be at your side. I miss you terribly, and I worry about you more than I should. Please promise me one thing: trust in Grey Wind. He's wiser than the two of us combined, so please, if he thinks there is something wrong, he is right. It's better to be paranoid than dead._

 

_We will meet again, somehow. I know it._

 

_Yours, now and always,_

 

_Theon_

 

Robb rubbed his face. Catelyn's brow furrowed in confusion and concern. “Well? What is it? What does Bran have to say?”

 

He sighed. “It is not Bran, mother. It was Theon. He... he captured Winterfell and turned his cloak on purpose. He never joined his family's rebellion, instead pretending to go along with their plans until he could have an opportunity to take the black. He sent a letter from Pyke, but it never arrived. Oh gods, I believed him a traitor when he’s been more loyal to me than half of my men! I’m such a fool.”

 

Catelyn looked at her son with doubt. “That may be so, but what of it? His name is cleared, at least according to this letter, and now he guards the Wall. He is not returning, Robb. You must put your past aside with him, and focus on your future now. Your marriage to Jeyne Westerling has cost you the alliance of the Freys, and if we are to secure the North we need every man we can gather. Theon is no longer a part of your life. His duty is to the Wall, and your duty is to your people and your new wife, for whom you have sacrificed much.” 

 

Robb felt defeated. “Then what do I do? Hope that somehow Lord Frey is a man of his word and that we regain a small part of their loyalty with this gods-forsaken wedding?”  

 

“Yes,” Catelyn said, pursing her lips. “We must hold faith to Lord Frey's promises, even though he has made it clear he does not trust yours. You broke a vow to him.” There was pain on her face, as she looked at him. “Why, Robb, did you do it? You did not need to marry her.” 

 

“Honour,” he said, stubbornly. His fists clenched. 

 

Catelyn's face was so sad Robb felt with a twinge of pity as he realized just how much older she looked than the woman who raised him. It was as though she had aged ten years at least since they received those dreaded words that said his father had been murdered at the hands of the Lannisters. His heart nearly broke for her, for their family. He had been such an idiot. _I should never have married Jeyne. I am so sorry, Mother. What have I done?_ But words were nothing, it was actions that counted. 

 

His mother shook her head slowly. “Your father was an honourable man, yet he fathered a bastard. You did not need to marry Jeyne simply because you bedded her once. You took Theon Greyjoy to your bed and did not attempt to marry him. Why is bedding a maid any different from a man? She will be a good queen to you, true and kind, but my boy, why didn't you wait?” She sighed. “I'm sorry, my love. I spend too much time thinking about what should be instead of the matters at hand. I'll leave you be.” Catelyn rose from her chair, kissed him on the forehead and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. 

 

Robb looked over the letter again. _Oh, Theon, I was such a fool to send you away from me. I should never have let you go._ He knew then, as he had before, that Theon had needed to step foot on the Iron Islands again for his own sake, but Robb selfishly wished that Theon had stayed. Perhaps he would never have taken Jeyne to his bed if Theon had been there. _No. I must not think like that._ Robb did not blame Jeyne in the slightest, and almost pitied her. She loved him in a way he could never return, for to her Robb was the gallant king who had swept her off her feet and married her, making her a queen. It was any maiden's dream. But for Robb, although he was hesitant to admit it, Jeyne had been a mistake, and although she was a wondrous mistake, he should never have married her, let alone taken her to his bed. He was solely to blame, not Jeyne. She merely suffered the misfortune of being kind and beauteous, and meeting Robb when he was at his most vulnerable, when he needed the comfort of another person the most. _I have to try to be good to her, the husband she deserves. I must love her with all my heart._

 

Yet when they lay together that night, Jeyne fast asleep in his arms, he could not help but remember how many times he and Theon had lain together like that, comforting one another with their presence. It was something they had done since they were children.

 

A few months after Theon arrived at Winterfell, Robb discovered him sleepwalking along a corridor quite far from his bedchamber. He had made for a pitiful sight, looking dazed and confused as he shuffled along, uncertain of anything. Robb had been wandering the halls for some reason, and happened to chance upon Theon by luck. He led the sleepy boy back to his own room, and by the time Robb opened the door, Theon was more-or-less awake, but he did not want to go back to his chambers. Instead, Theon spent the rest of the night talking about Pyke, and the Iron Islands, and Robb told him about all the secret places in the castle that he would take Theon to. Robb had never had another friend his age aside from Jon who was always so… solemn. Theon was funny and always told wonderful stories, like the one about the star dragons who flew high above the earth. Theon soon began to sleep in Robb's room instead of his own, sneaking in after everyone else was asleep. His sleepwalking soon disappeared, but he still found his way to Robb's room on occasion, until Theon was eleven and Robb nine, when they decided that it would be best to stop such childish behaviour. 

 

Eight years later, Theon began sleeping in Robb's bed again, albeit for different reasons than the ones they had had when they were small. More often than not, Theon spent the night in Robb's room or tent, sometimes merely seeking comfort in each other's presence. The night Robb received word of his father's murder Theon came to his bed and cradled him as Robb sobbed all through the night. _It was more than merely bedwarming,_ Robb realized painfully. _There was love there too, and I was too blind to see it._

 

There was love, too, with Jeyne, and Robb saw it. He knew he needed to give Jeyne as much love as she gave him, for their marriage cost the alliance of the Freys. Lord Walder Frey turned out to be nigh on impossible to placate, but somehow eventually agreed to continue the alliance on the condition that Edmure Tully wed a Frey girl, and Robb attend the wedding in order to make a personal apology. It had been a nightmare, truth be told, and Robb was dreading the wedding.

 

_The sooner this thrice-damned ceremony is over and done, the happier I will be,_ Robb thought. He was irritated with the conditions of the agreement, but there was little that could be done. It was not as though Lord Frey was demanding his head, merely his presence at his daughter's wedding. _I should be grateful, but weddings are always such dull affairs_ , he thought, as he drifted off to sleep. 

 

\----

 

The Wall was bloody cold, that much was for certain. Theon shivered in his fur-lined clothes as he gazed out at the white expanse north of the Wall, where the haunted forest lay. _Black and white and grey,_ he thought grimly, _the colour of the Starks. Even here, at the end of the world, I cannot escape the past._ The sky was clear that night, and he could see the glittering eye of the Ice Dragon far above the earth. That had always been Robb’s favourite constellation, for it was useful. Theon had always scoffed at that, but he had to admit now there was a certain beauty to it as it stretched across the Wall into the lands beyond. 

 

He had been at the Wall for one month exactly, but it felt like no time at all since he rode his horse into Castle Black for the first time. Theon had never realized how small the force of the Night’s Watch, nor how shabby and ill-prepared they seemed. He had been afraid that his reputation would precede him, but aside from a few japes about frozen squid, little comment had been made on why he was joining. He mostly avoided his fellow brothers, choosing to be by himself as much as he could. He had a chance here, for the first time in his life, to be who he was, rather than someone who he was expected to be. 

 

Some things he could not escape though, no matter how hard he tried. Several days earlier, as he had left the common hall after breaking his fast, he had been stopped by Ser Endrew Tarth, the master-at-arms. 

 

“I have heard you have proven that you are proficient at archery. Would you be interested in assisting some of our new recruits who have never bent a bow in their life?” His tone was kind, but his face was stern. Theon shook his head. Tarth’s tone changed instantly, and he spoke sternly. “I need you to do this for me, and for yourself. You cannot hide yourself away all the time. I do not know why you do it, whether it be because you believe yourself better than everyone else, or for some other reason, but it cannot continue forever. And I need you to teach the recruits.” Theon had sighed and agreed. _Robb would want me to do this_ , he thought to himself as he strung his bow and prepared to teach.

 

The recruits were a hopeless lot, but Theon began to feel a strange fondness for them. Few had even seen a bow up close, let alone strung one or loosed one. Yet with every small bit of progress Theon found himself feeling proud of those he helped. Even something as simple as one of the brothers having a better stance than the day before felt like Theon had won a victory. For once in his life he was no longer a Greyjoy, someone to be feared and mistrusted, but was instead Theon, someone who was actually useful for the first time. _It is a shame Jon Snow cannot be here to see my miraculous transformation_ , he thought sarcastically. Jon had always had a poor opinion of Theon, and had often said so in as many words. They held little affection for one another, but a part of Theon had been disappointed when he arrived at Castle Black to discover Snow gone on what the other Sworn Brothers called the Great Ranging, and would not be back for a long time. Only a few men had returned from that expedition, all speaking of terrible things in the north. Jon had not been amongst those, and his current whereabouts were unknown. Some believed him dead, but Theon did not. _He has that wolf with him. Together they could survive anything._

 

The stars began to fade in the night sky when Theon left his post on the Wall and took the cage lift down to the castle. He strongly disliked the metal contraption that hung from a dizzying height above the earth, but it was either that or the stairs, and this was by far the lesser of two evils in Theon's mind. Off in the distance he noticed a lone horse and rider, threading their way towards the castle, but he paid it little attention, for it was most likely some brother back from the brothel at Mole's Town. Theon had not visited it, and did not plan to for a long time. He knew from experience that he only thought of Robb when he was with a woman, and it held little interest for him. _Those days are behind me,_ he thought somberly and then paused. _Wait, what is that rider doing?_ The cage reached the bottom of the wall and Theon left it, hurrying towards the horse. It approached him, walking at a slow pace, its rider barely keeping in his saddle. He lurched, and Theon rushed towards him, barely catching him as he fell to the ground. 

 

“Jon...” Theon gasped as he recognized the face of the boy he had grown up with. _Gods, I never realized how much he looks like Robb_. It had been over a year since Jon left Winterfell with his uncle Benjen, bound for Castle Black and a new life. _So much has changed_. Jon's face was bloody and scarred and one of his legs was badly injured. His eyes were unfocused and he had barely any strength. 

 

“Theon?” whispered Jon Snow, looking up at him with uncertainty, and for a moment Theon thought he saw a ghost of a smile, but it vanished. Theon nodded and half-carried Jon away from his horse and into the armoury where Donal Noye worked his forge. 

 

“Is that Jon Snow?” the blacksmith asked as Theon pulled him into the warm room. As he saw the extent of Jon's injuries he shook his head and exhaled loudly. “I'm amazed the boy's alive. Thank you for bringing him here, Theon.”

 

Jon stared around him in confusion. “Where am I... is this Castle Black?” Theon nodded. “Wildlings... wildling army headed this way from the south. Well-armed. We need to get the garrison together. They're going to try to breach the gate.” He tried to stand, but his legs gave out on him and he collapsed into Theon's arms. 

 

Wildlings. _Wonderful,_ thought Theon grimly. This was the last thing they needed. Castle Black was already undermanned, and if there was a large army it would be difficult to defend. Men had been sent out to battle wildling attacks, but at the sight of a black cloak they would flee. _They're drawing us out so they can attack us when we are weakest._ It was an alarming prospect: there were no more than fifty men at Castle Black. 

 

“Take him to see Maester Aemon,” advised Noye. “Gods be good. What happened to his eye?” 

 

Jon raised a hand to his face, as though he had forgotten what happened to him. “A wildling skinchanger tried to rip out my eye.”

 

The smith's face was grim. “Well, scarred or no, it's a face I thought I would never see again. It's good to have you back, Jon. Go on now,” he said, gesturing to Theon. “Take him to Aemon. That leg looks like it could use tending.” 

 

Slowly, Theon carried Jon up the stairs to the maester's door and kicked it open. Donal Noye followed close behind. “ _Clydas_!” The blacksmith yelled into the darkened room.

 

A small, round man appeared and gasped at the sight of Jon, limp in Theon's arms. “I'll fetch the maester at once,” Clydas said, and scurried off. Theon laid Jon gently down on a table. His eyes were closed and he looked pale. One of the legs of his breeches was crusted with dried blood, and Theon felt queasy. 

 

Maester Aemon shuffled in slowly. “Jon Snow? My boy, you're back. Thank you, Theon, for bringing him to me. Go back to your quarters. Now, what has happened to you, Jon?” Theon stepped towards the door, thankful he did not have to watch whatever Maester Aemon had planned. 

 

Jon coughed on the table. “Wildling arrow,” he wheezed. “They're coming, and when they do, there'll be no stopping them.” Theon felt a sudden chill as he closed the door to the maester's quarters behind him. He had hoped the wildling threat wouldn't come to battle. He had been through battle, endured it, survived it; but the thought of facing it again was not a prospect he enjoyed. _If I must fight, I will. If I cannot protect Robb anymore, I will fight to protect his people_ , he vowed, but it was not an easy thought. _Gods help me_. 

 

\---

 

The drums were pounding, pounding, pounding, like an infernal heartbeat of some beast, filling the hall with the sound. _The musicians must be drunk or deaf_ , decided Robb _, for how else could such wailing be called music?_ His mood was as sour as the wine that sat before him. This was by far one of the most unpleasant weddings in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, Robb concluded. The food had been paltry and foul, the company even more so. There was something decidedly off to the wedding, and Robb sensed his mother felt the same. She looked anxiously around the hall, first at the guests, then at the various longswords hung on pegs on the walls. Catelyn had not stopped worrying him since they had entered the Twins. She had little to fear, for Robb had his guard around him, and despite his many shortcomings, Walder Frey would not break guest right, for to do so would bring down the wrath of many. He would not do that, surely. Robb wished he had Grey Wind beside him. _Theon told me to trust him, and my wolf has never let me down._ Yet Lord Frey had been adamant he stay out of the hall, and Robb had chained him up outside. It left a bad taste in his mouth and his stomach felt uneasy. 

 

The musicians, if they could indeed be called that, changed their tune, but the Greatjon took no heed and began singing a loud, drunken rendition of “The Bear and the Maiden Fair”. It was too much for Roose Bolton, who muttered something to Catelyn and bowed out of the hall. 

 

“Only a little more, Mother, and this farce of a wedding shall be over,” Robb said cheerfully, but his mother did not look any more peaceful. “Shall we have a dance?” She shook her head. 

 

Catelyn was gnawing at her fingers, Robb noticed. _There is something very wrong here_ , he thought. In his letter, Theon told him to trust Grey Wind above anyone else. He should find his wolf and see if he felt as uneasy as Robb did. 

 

“I must use the privy,” he announced suddenly to Ser Ryman Frey, standing abruptly. 

 

“But, my lord, you may miss the bedding! Surely, at your own uncle's wedding day, you would not want to do such a thing.” The small man's gaze darted nervously around the hall, from the guests crammed against the walls, to the dancers, to Lord Walder Frey himself, sitting in his high chair, clapping his spotted hands together in grotesque merriment. 

 

“I'm afraid I really must go, lest I bespoil my clothes. I shall return in a moment.” Robb's tone was clipped. Ser Ryman Frey frowned, but Robb left him behind as he strode across the hall towards where he knew Grey Wind was kept. 

 

“Your Grace,” he heard Lord Walder Frey call. “The vows have been vowed, the prayers prayed, the cloaks cloaked. Yet a wedding without a bedding is like a sword without a sheath, _heh_? What says my sire to a bedding?” Above him, the musicians began to quiet, dribbling off into silence. 

 

Robb bowed as graciously as he could. “My lord Frey, although I may say yes to a bedding, my bladder disagrees with me. On my honour, I shall return anon.” He saw Walder Frey spit, but hurried out the door before he could say another word. 

 

The kennel-master tried to stop him, but Robb pushed the man aside. He found Grey Wind chained in one of the kennels, and quietly untied him. The wolf was acting oddly, and it worried Robb. _What does he know that I do not?_ Robb wondered as he patted his direwolf.He knew he could not bring Grey Wind into the Great Hall, but before he left him in the unlocked kennel he crouched down and whispered into his beloved wolf's ear. 

 

“Stay here, boy, but if there's trouble, you find me straightaway, understood?” He ruffled Grey Wind's ear, and the wolf licked his face. It made him laugh, and for a moment he forgot the gravity of the situation. “Stay,” he commanded as he stood up. Grey Wind whined, but sat obediently as Robb left him there in the dark kennels. 

 

The Great Hall was just as hot and stuffy as it had been when Robb left. Lord Walder Frey looked at him and scoffed. 

 

“Did you enjoy your visit to our humble privies, sire?” His voice was mocking, but Robb felt there was something dangerous to his tone as well. Yet Robb had to remember his courtesies. 

 

“They were the finest in the land,” he jested, and with a large smile plastered to his face, looked around the room. “I believe there was a bedding promised?” 

 

Lord Walder laughed coldly. “Of course. A bedding.” His sons and grandsons began to bang their cups on the tables, shouting, “To bed! To bed! To bed with them!” Lady Roslin had turned white and clutched the table. _Poor thing,_ Robb thought. Like as not she had only a crude idea of what would happen to her. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his mother glance around, but she was not looking at the bride. She was visibly worried, even as the crowd lifted the hapless bride and boisterous groom and carried them away to the tune of “The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown”. The hall was mostly empty now, with all but a few remaining. Lord Walder Frey still presided over all, peering down upon everything with disdain. Robb knew he should have joined in the bedding, but he could not bring himself to it. 

 

He moved towards his mother, but was distracted momentarily when Edwyn Frey wrenched his arm away from Dacey Mormont. 

 

“What was that in aid of?” he asked Edwyn. Robb saw his mother rise at that moment too. Edwyn merely grunted. _There is something very wrong right now_ , he suddenly thought with a chill of terror. 

 

Then the music changed. 

 

No singers sang the words, but everyone in the hall knew “The Rains of Castamere” as soon as the musicians started playing. Catelyn strode toward Edwyn and slapped him so hard she split his lip. He shoved her aside, and Robb stepped in his path, but it was no use. The next thing he knew he was on the ground, his shoulder pierced by a white hot pain. Cries filled the hall, but they were drowned by the incessant music. Robb pulled himself along as he felt a second quarrel pierce his side. He screamed in pain and fear. Suddenly, a grey shape appeared and dragged him behind a fallen table. _Grey Wind_. His wolf raced out and savagely attacked the armoured men who had appeared. He stood, shakily, and lurched towards the door. He almost touched it when a third quarrel pierced his right leg and he collapsed. 

 

The music stopped. Through the red pain, he thought he saw his mother trying to negotiate with Lord Frey. She had Jinglebell, his simple grandson, and had a knife pressed to his throat. Grey Wind stared at Lord Frey, his jaws bloody and dripping. His heart stopped, but what could he do? He had to act. _This is my chance_ , he thought, as Grey Wind ran towards him. As he turned to open the door, Roose Bolton stepped through and came face-to-face with Grey Wind, who slammed into the him. He lay on the ground, dazed, as Robb seized his chance and using strength that he did not know he had, ran. Grey Wind led him, and Robb followed blindly until he could run no more. Looking around, he found he stood on the bridge, the rushing waters of the river beneath him. Slowly, Frey men surrounded him. He was trapped. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. 

 

_Nowhere except the river._ Holding on to Grey Wind by the scruff of the neck so he would not collapse, Robb backed slowly to the edge of the bridge as Black Walder approached him, sword drawn and at the ready. Robb could feel himself already losing consciousness, the blackness eating away at the edges of his sight. He wanted to say something clever, something that he would be remembered for, dying words fit for a king. Yet all he could think as he felt himself tipping backwards and the cold water of the river closing over him was _Mother_...

 

\----

 

Mole's Town was burning when Theon awoke from a terrible dream. He'd dreamt of the great feast again, yet this time as they ate he watched as the food rotted in his hands, and those around him died and turned to dust and bones. _No one has slept well_ , he thought, as he looked around at those posted with him on the King's Tower. Six scarecrows and three actual crows. The scarecrow sentinels had been Maester Aemon's idea, so the wildlings would think Castle Black was better defended than it actually was. In truth, Theon suspected that it was more to boost morale than actually help defend the castle. _Is a castle without walls truly a castle?_ Theon wondered. They had made a wall of sorts, but the makeshift wall would do little in the end to deter the wildling raiders. 

 

“How fast do you think they will come?” asked Satin, a boy who was originally from Oldtown. He had been born and raised in a brothel, and was as pretty as a girl, with curly dark hair, dark eyes, and smooth skin. Theon had heard the japes made at his expense and wondered if those sorts of things were said about him behind his back. _No one knows_ , he reminded himself.

 

“They'll come when they come, and not before,” Jon yawned. Footsteps came up the tower and Owen the Oaf popped out of the trapdoor, handed the brothers a basket of rolls, and departed. They were still warm as Theon picked one up and nibbled at it. Jon ate one too, but Satin declined. 

 

“Raisins,” Deaf Dick Follard announced happily. “Nuts, too.” His speech was thick, but it could be understood once you were used to it. He seemed to be a friendly man, but Theon did not know him well. He knew few of the brothers well, for he had been uncomfortable with the idea of socializing with them. _I must try harder_ , he thought. _I must try to make this my home._

 

For the rest of the day they did little but sit, and Theon found it painfully dull. War seemed to be mostly boredom with a small part of pure terror, he found, and in some ways the boredom was the worst. They ate again near evening, but Theon had little appetite. He knew some men who on the eve of battle would feast as though it were the last meal they would ever eat. Others took women to their beds, or drank until they retched. After Robb finished discussions with his bannermen, he and Theon would retreat to his chambers, or tent, where they would make love with a desperation neither understood but both felt. Later, when he held Robb in his arms, Theon always wondered if it was to be the last time they lay together. Their future was so bright then, so new, and yet now it seemed like a thousand years ago since he left Robb that early morn, saying goodbye without even an embrace. Theon never dreamed it would be the last time he saw Robb, just as he never dreamed he would find himself at the end of the world, preparing for battle with his soon-to-be sworn brothers. _I should never have left Robb’s side_ , Theon thought, as he surveyed the castle. Satin had lit a fire to heat up the oil. Jon had disappeared down the trapdoor to bar the door to the King's Tower. Theon checked his bow, counted his arrows, anything to take his mind off the waiting. 

 

The wildlings came in the night, when all was dark and still. Theon was startled when the warhorns blew but was quick to gather himself. Deaf Dick Follard was roused by Satin, and Jon strung his longbow. 

 

“Don't waste quarrels,” Theon said to the men. “Make sure you've got a good shot. Reload behind merlons. We can't afford to lose you.” They all nodded grimly, except for Dick, who didn't really know what was going on. _The boar can have his tusks and the bear his claws,_ Theon thought, as he strung his bow and hung a quiver from his belt. _There's nothing half so mortal as a grey goose feather_. 

 

The wildlings came in silence, hiding in the shadows where they could not be seen. They crept along the bases of the towers, too far away for Theon to shoot. He saw Jon draw and loose an arrow at shadows creeping towards them and in an instant raised his own bow and brought one down. _One down, only five thousand to go_. Then suddenly, he saw them all at once. There was no time to find targets, only to choose. Shouts came from the ground below, and from the other towers. The world narrowed down to his longbow, to the endless repetition of nocking, drawing, and loosing. Over and over and over he did it, dropping almost as many wildlings as he loosed arrows. He knew he should feel a sense of pride in his skill, but he never enjoyed battle. 

 

Theon didn't notice until an arrow, fletched with white goose feather, sprouted from his side. He cried out in pain. A second one hit his right arm and he staggered backwards. 

 

“Theon!” he heard Jon shout, but he sounded a thousand leagues away. The stars above Theon's head were spinning. His body was flame. The cool waters of unconsciousness lapped at him and threatened to pull him under, and as he let the darkness envelop him he thought with terror, _Robb..._

 

\-----

 

Theon drifted in and out of consciousness for days, waking momentarily only to be dragged back into the depths of his mind. He dreamt of death as a woman, with grief carved in her skin and eyes of blinding hatred, and a king with the head of a wolf, who watched from a throne made of bones. When he finally awoke, it was as dark as old blood and he cried out, fearing he had gone blind. 

 

It seemed like an eternity until the door to his room swung open to admit a boy carrying a candle. 

 

“Ah, good, you're awake,” said Jon Snow. When he saw Theon struggling to sit up, he raised his hand. “Don't move. You're lucky to be alive.” He gestured towards Theon, whose arm and chest were wrapped with thick heavy bandages. His right arm felt stiff and painful, and Theon wondered if it was broken.

 

“What happened to me?” he croaked. Jon dragged a chair from the corner of the room and sat down heavily on it. 

 

“You've broken your arm, and managed to put a nasty hole in your side there. Quite frankly, we didn't think you were long for this world. Then when the fever set in... it was a miracle you pulled through.” Jon's voice was cheerful, but his eyes were weary. Theon looked around him in confusion.

 

“How long did I sleep for?” Surely he hadn't been gone for that long. And yet... and yet... “Did we win the battle?” Theon asked, unsure.

 

Jon nodded. “We won, all right. But you've been gone for almost a dozen days now. A lot has happened.” Seeing the shock on Theon's face, he continued. “Stannis Baratheon rode to war and smashed the wildling force. He's here now, with all of his men. They've taken up permanent residence here.”

 

Theon shook his head, uncertain of anything. “What about Robb? Why didn't he come, too?” He sounded like a child. 

 

Jon's face darkened and he looked distressed. “Theon...” Jon said, softly, “About Robb... there's been bad tidings. He... he's been slain. Butchered at the hands of the Freys.”

 

_No. No, no no nonononono._ Robb couldn't be dead. Theon's body turned to ice. 

 

Jon spoke with difficulty. “He wed someone he was not supposed to.”

 

Theon felt cold and he struggled to think straight. “Wed…?” he whispered. 

 

Jon nodded. “A girl from the Westerlands. He married her to protect her honour, but it invoked the wrath of Walder Frey. The alliance ended, but the Freys agreed to aid Robb's cause on the condition that Edmure Tully wed a Frey girl, and Robb make a formal apology at the wedding. It was a trap. Most of his retinue were slain, along with Lady Catelyn herself. Robb… Robb tried to escape across the bridge, but was surrounded and fell into the river. He's dead, Theon. He's dead.” At this Jon's voice broke and he fell to weeping quietly. 

 

_Robb’s gone. He’s gone._ Robb couldn’t be gone. Surely Theon would have felt something like in the stories when a woman senses her lover's death on the battlefield and is mourning already when she receives word of his demise. He tried to remember Robb as he had last seen him, his face as beautiful as day. _He can't be dead, he can't be dead._ A ragged cry escaped his lips, and he began to sob brokenheartedly. _He cannot be gone. I’m so sorry Robb. I didn’t even say goodbye._

 

“I loved him,” Theon muttered. “I loved him.” Jon looked at him and wiped his eyes. 

 

“I know. I loved him too.” Jon reached out and touched Theon's unbroken hand.

 

Theon shook his head. “No. I _loved_ him, Jon. I loved him like a man loves a woman.” Fresh tears coursed down his face. His body began to shake. 

 

Jon's eyes narrowed and he withdrew his hand. “Do you mean you...”

 

“Lay with him? Yes.” Theon laughed bitterly. “Call me what you will: whore, bitch, cunt. I've heard them all. I don't care what others think of me. I let him bed me because I _loved_ him, not because I sought to gain favour.” It was a lie, the part about not caring, but better to be feared than laughed at. 

 

Jon was taken aback. “I wouldn't... you let him...er...” He turned red, clearly uncomfortable with the thought of his brother and Theon together. 

 

“Fuck me?” Theon smirked. “Yes. I did. Is it a shock to you that I let him use me like a woman?” His tone was harsh, and he saw Jon recoil. _Good,_ he thought. His anger numbed the pain. “Shall I tell you about it?” He laughed again; it was a short, barking laugh. 

 

Jon smiled sadly and looked down at his feet. “I lost someone, too, someone who I loved.” 

 

_This is unexpected,_ Theon thought, shocked. “Who?” he asked, all traces of bitterness gone from his voice. 

 

Jon took a deep breath. “A wildling woman. Her name was Ygritte. She was fierce, aye, as fierce as a wildcat, and twice as proud. I... I broke my vows with her.” 

 

Shocked, Theon stared at him. “You lay with her?” Jon nodded, his face flushed with shame. “Well, that changes things,” he said, almost smirking. 

 

Jon's brow furrowed. “It does?” 

 

“Never thought you'd know where to put it is all.” It should feel absurd to be talking to Jon Snow about love, of all things, but it seemed almost commonplace. _Grief is like that_ , he supposed. _It makes the bizarre normal and the normal bizarre._

 

Jon gave him a sad half-smile. “I loved her, and she loved me in her way. But she's gone now.” He paused and Theon saw his eyes were wet with tears. “She was killed at the Battle of Castle Black. She died in my arms.” 

 

Theon's smile faded. “Oh gods, Jon. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” He started to cry, and he blindly reached out to grip Jon's hand. 

 

Jon sniffed and wiped his eyes. “I'm sorry too, Theon, for you, with Robb and all. Was he happy when he was, er, with you? Did you make him happy?” 

 

_Ecstatic_ , Theon wanted to say. _Blissful._ Instead he only nodded. “Yes. We- we comforted each other at night.” 

 

Jon gave a small laugh. “How did you hide that from Lady Stark?” 

 

Theon tried to smile. “We were very careful.” His composure dropped, and his body was wracked with sobs. “Gods, Jon. How am I going to do it? How am I going to carry on? I should have been there, I should have died with him. Why did I leave his side?” 

 

Jon looked downcast. “I don't know. Why did I leave Ygritte behind? I shouldn't have, and yet I had to. The only thing I can do is hold fast to the belief that they would want us to live, and to remember them and tell the world their stories so that they can live on in a way.” He began to cry anew and Theon grasped Jon's hand and gripped it. Together they sat in silence, praying in their own way to their gods. _Please, gods, if you exist, bring Robb back to me,_ Theon prayed.But the gods would not listen. They never did. 

 

\----

 

They had loaned him a horse, a cloak, and clothes and boots, all black, all too large. They were not his to keep, for nothing was his. Once, he had had everything, now he had nothing. _No, not nothing. I still breathe. I still know who I am._ He had to remind himself of everything on occasion: who he was, where he was, where he was going. The remembering was the most important thing.

 

It seemed so long since that red day when he died in the cold black water, drowning, drowning, drowning, calling for his mother as water filled his lungs. He had been reborn on a shore, as naked as a babe, knowing naught but a single name, half-dead from cold. The monks of that calm island had taken care of him, helped him regain his strength, taught him to live again. His leg never would work properly again, the monks told him, and he learned to use a stick to walk. His mind had been broken, though, and in the day he barely remembered who he was, let alone who he had been. He only knew that one name, and the half-remembered face of the person he knew he needed to find, no matter the cost. When the remembering became too much, he forced himself to unmake the world until all he heard was the name, and all he saw was the man whose face he had once kissed, whose body he had once touched. Yet night brought horrors beyond belief, memories and the shadows of memories, twisted and intertwined until the false became the true, and the true the false, and no amount of unmaking the world would stop his body shaking and the tears from pouring down his face. He had to go north. To help him, the kindly brothers of the quiet island had given him a horse, and he rode to a town with salt in the name and salt in the air, where he traded the horse for passage to the town of gulls. He was headed north, towards the Wall, where he would find Theon. _Theon_. Never had a name been more important. 

 

Gulltown was as unpleasant as its name, and the little silver he had was spent quickly. He had once been good with coins, he knew, but that was another life. He had been forced to steal. A thief among kings, where once he had been a king among thieves. Or was it the other way around? His mind didn't work right after his fall into the river, like his brother's legs never worked after his fall on that summer day long ago. _North. North is where Theon is_. It was all Robb had left, save his name. He did not even have his wits about him. In the end, his wits failed him, and he was caught stealing a loaf of bread and dragged before the lord of the town. He was unrecognizable, a far cry from the king of old, and was only seen as a common thief, and a terrible one at that. Thrice he was caught thieving and brought before the lord of Gulltown. The first two times he was sentenced to be flogged, but the third time was given a choice: lose a hand, or take the black. There was little choice for Robb, and he found himself on a ship bound for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, his final destination Castle Black. 

 

The closer Robb got to the Wall, the better his mind became. It wasn't perfect, and sometimes he forgot things, or saw remembered things no man ever should, but it was better than before. He forgot his name less, and sometimes the things he remembered were good: his mother's warm smile; his father's terrible japes; his sister's long hair, the colour of sunset. He did not sleep at night, as sleep brought back the worst of his memories, instead limping up onto the top deck of the ship and watching the stars far above him. They were oddly comforting, even so far away, and Robb would sit and pick out the constellations Theon had taught him. It made him feel closer, and sometimes he thought he could almost see his friend beside him, pointing out the different patterns in the night sky. 

 

When he reached Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, he and a small ragtag group of other recruits began the journey to Castle Black, following the vast Wall. It had taken only four days of hard riding before the recruits were informed they were a day's journey from Castle Black.

 

Castle Black was not so much a castle as a collection of towers, Robb realized as they approached it. It was strange to think that this was the place he had journeyed so long to reach. _Theon_ , Robb thought. His stomach twisted into knots at the thought. _Will this have been for nothing?_ Robb couldn't think that. The possibility frightened him. 

 

As they entered the main courtyard of the castle, Robb looked around him in awe. High above him, a winch cage made its way down the icy surface of the Wall, black-cloaked brothers inside it. The sun was setting and a shadow had fallen over Castle Black. It was frightening and overwhelming, and he began to panic. He couldn't do this. He couldn't, he couldn’t... red flashed before his eyes and he saw his mother screaming…

 

“Dismount!” cried the older of the two recruiters. Everyone obeyed but Robb, who saw in slow motion as she put her knife to a Frey’s throat. _No, no, I am not there. Where am I?_ He was frozen, trapped in the past, reliving half-remembered horrors. “I said, dismount, recruit! That means you get off your horse, not sit there like a fool!” Breathing in ragged breaths of the cold air, Robb blinked owlishly around him. _The Wall, the Wall. I’m at the Wall._ Slowly, Robb eased his bad leg over the back of his horse and put it on the ground, but he had put too much weight on it for his stick was still clutched in his hand, and he fell on his back. Laughter broke out among the recruits and Robb felt his face turn red. He remembered another young man, strong and healthy, who vaulted off horses with nary a thought. Those days were long gone. He scrabbled around in the snow with his stick but could not find something to help him stand and sat helplessly on the ground.

 

“Need a hand?” a voice said, and a gloved hand was extended. Robb gripped it gratefully, and stood to find himself staring into the brown eyes of someone he knew very well. His heart stopped in his chest as he saw the other man’s eyes widen in shock.

 

“Theon?” he whispered. Theon squeezed Robb's hand, and Robb noticed there were tears in his friend's eyes, but he was smiling. 

 

“I thought you were dead...” Theon murmured, and his hand reached up to touch Robb's cheek. “You’re alive, you’re really here.” Robb smiled for the first time in what seemed like years.  

 

The younger of the two recruiters cleared his throat nervously. “We will be in the common hall should you need us.” he said, and began to lead the recruits away, some of them muttering under their breath. Robb paid them no mind. 

 

Theon continued to stare at Robb's face. Robb knew he looked different; his auburn hair was longer and more unruly than ever before, and his beard was scruffy. He also walked with a stick, leaning heavily on it when he did so. Theon looked different too, older and more haggard, as though he had not slept easily in months. 

 

“Come with me,” Theon said, quietly, and led Robb off towards one of the buildings, still holding on to Robb's hand as he helped him up a flight of stairs and down a corridor. Robb's leg was hurting, and even with his stick he was slow, but Theon was patient as Robb took his time. They finally arrived before a heavy oak door, and Theon hammered on it. 

 

“Who is it?” asked a familiar voice. Theon didn't answer, instead opening the door and pushing Robb in. He nearly tripped, but Theon's hand on his shoulder prevented him from falling on his face. 

 

“Robb...” Jon exhaled. He stood up from behind the desk where he sat writing, and walked toward Robb. 

 

“Jon?” His brother was taller and looked like a man, not at all like the boy who had left Winterfell so long ago. 

 

Jon walked towards him and made as though he were to embrace Robb, but instead he changed his mind and gave him a backhand so hard he tasted blood. In the blink of an eye, Theon stepped in front of Robb and shoved Jon so hard he fell to the ground. 

 

“I thought you were dead!” Jon screamed, his fists clenched in rage. “ _I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!_ ” Tears were running freely down his face. 

 

Robb began to weep. “Jon- I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, Jon. Please...” He knelt awkwardly and hugged Jon, who held on to Robb as though he would never let go.

 

“Robb… you were dead… you were dead…” Jon gasped into Robb’s shoulder, clinging onto him like a child. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Jon released him and rose. Theon gripped Robb's elbow and helped him stand. 

 

“Your leg?” Jon asked, gesturing towards Robb's right leg. Robb nodded, his face pale.

 

“At the... at the wedding. Crossbow quarrel. Hit me there, in my shoulder, and in my side.” He grimaced at the memory, and was thankful for Theon's fingers intertwining with his own. 

 

Jon grimaced, his face long and serious. “We can talk of this at another time.” He looked at Robb and Theon and their hands, tightly held, and a knowing look came over his face. “Theon, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll need you to fetch Satin and bring him back here straightaway. I need to speak with Robb privately right now, but be back here soon.” Theon nodded, and left the room. “Sit,” Jon commanded, gesturing to a chair across from his desk. Gratefully, Robb sat. Jon moved around the desk and sat opposite from him. “I believe I owe you an explanation. Robb, I’m- I’ve advanced the ranks here. Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander, was killed beyond the wall, and… I’m his replacement now.”

 

Robb looked at him with confusion. “You’re Lord Commander?” That couldn’t be true- Jon was so young. Then again, Robb himself had been made a king when he was no more than a boy…

 

Jon sighed, and smiled grimly. “It would appear so. But that’s an aside. Robb- how did you survive? What happened? We thought you were dead. You should have seen Theon.” Jon looked miserable at the memory. “There were a few times I had to coax him off the edge of the Wall. He was inconsolable.”

 

Robb buried his head in his hands. “Oh gods…” 

 

Jon paused. “He told me, you know. About- about you two.” Robb cautiously raised his head. “It’s fine. I- he’s such a different person to the one I know. He cares for you, tremendously. He was ready to desert the Wall and ride south to slay every Frey he could find. It was all I could do to get him not to.” He sighed. “Robb, how did you survive it? They said there was no way a man could have survived, so how did you?” 

 

Robb shook his head. He couldn’t talk about that time, not yet. Instead he merely said, “I’m not entirely certain. I thought I was drowning. I should have drowned. The monks on the island who found me said I should have died, but the gods had blessed me in some way.” He was choking on words and could not continue. “I’m sorry… I- I can’t…” A knock at the door blessedly ended the conversation, and Theon and a pretty boy entered. 

 

“My lord?” the boy asked. _He must be Satin_ , Robb thought to himself. It was an unusual name, but he’d heard worse. He remembered laughing with Theon in private over the man who bore the unfortunate name of Aenys Frey, the pronunciation of which Robb had butchered when he was introduced. 

 

Jon smiled widely at the boy. “I want you to prepare my room for my guests. They will be spending the night there, and no one will disturb them. Is this understood?” Satin glanced at Theon and Robb, and Jon nodded. 

 

The boy’s face was the very image of confidentiality. “I understand my lord. I shall make the necessary arrangements.” Satin bowed, and left the room. 

 

Robb looked around, confused. “Can we trust him?” 

 

Jon nodded. “Absolutely. No one will disturb you, and Satin is well-versed in discretion. Tonight you both may have my room- I have a large bed, and it’s not near anyone who could hear you should…” He reddened at the thought and was unable to continue. 

 

“Thank you, Jon,” Theon said. “You don’t know how much this means to me.” Jon waved away his gratitude. 

 

“I’ll see what I can do to arrange you two sharing a room together permanently. It’s the least I can do, honestly.” Jon’s smile was weary. “Just don’t break anything in my room or mess it up too much. Please?” 

 

Robb chuckled. “Of course. Thank you.” Jon gestured towards the door, and Robb rose. 

 

“Go on now. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about.” He picked up his quill and went back to the mountain of papers that piled on his desk. Sensing that the conversation was over, Robb turned awkwardly towards the door and left his brother’s room, Theon following shortly behind him. 

 

“Which way?” Robb asked, but Theon took his hand again. He was too tired to talk as they walked, and his leg was aching, forcing him to go slowly. It felt like an age had passed until they were in front of the door to the room Robb assumed was Jon’s. Theon opened the door and helped Robb into the small room. It was dark and quiet, but a merry fire crackled in the hearth. It was as pleasant a place as he could have wished for, but doubt still nagged at his mind. 

 

“Are you sure Jon will keep his word?” Robb whispered as Theon closed the door and locked it. Theon nodded. 

 

“Jon is a man of his word. Besides, we never were found out before, even that one time you decided to fuck me up against a tree in the godswood of Riverrun and someone was praying nearby.” 

 

Robb bit his lip. “My mother...” 

 

Theon's eyes widened. “She knew?” He looked frightened, as Robb had guessed she would. 

 

“She knew about us. She claimed she heard us when we were together one night, and recognized your voice. Mother said she thought I was with a woman, but…” Robb sighed. “Theon?” he asked.

 

Theon paused, his hands clenched at his side. He bit his lip, looking very uncomfortable before finally speaking. “Why, Robb? Why did you marry that girl?” He looked as though he was in pain. “Did you love her?” 

 

_Not this again_ , thought Robb. He'd had far too many people ask him that question. “I was injured and she took care of me. One night, I was upset and she came to my bed. She had been a maiden, and so in the morning I married her to preserve her honour. It was about honour, Theon. I thought I loved her. I thought I was doing the right thing. How wrong I was...” His face clouded over, and Theon clasped his cheek. 

 

“I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn't bring up such things.” Theon looked downcast, but Robb shook his head. 

 

“It's all good. You wanted to know. The truth is, Theon, I couldn't replace you. Every time I was with her I thought of you instead. It didn't feel right. I missed you... gods, I missed you. You were the only thing that kept me going. After the wedding, I woke up alone on a beach, and the only thing I knew for the longest time was your name and that you were the single most important thing that I had to find.” Robb stared at the floor, uncertain about what to do. “I knew that if I found you, I would be safe.” When he looked up again, Theon looked as though he might cry. “Theon?” 

 

“I thought you were dead, Robb. I thought you were dead, but you aren't, you're really here, and in some ways that's the worst thing, because now I know that one day I will lose you again...” he broke down, unable to continue. “If this is a dream, may the gods help me, for I will kill anyone who wakes me up.” Theon sniffed and wiped his eyes.

 

“Shut up, you idiot,” Robb growled, and smiling, pressed his mouth to Theon’s, catching him off guard. He knew he didn’t sound the same as he once did, for he was no longer that strong and confident boy, but in the end it did not matter. Theon's lips were warm and he moaned into Robb's mouth. _It had been far too long since this_ , Robb thought, as Theon's hands clumsily unlaced his jerkin and pulled his tunic off, leaving them in a puddle on the floor. He stood back, and as he did so he gasped. Robb knew what he saw was not pleasant: there were big pink scars where his body had been pierced with crossbow quarrels. Worse were the red half-healed scars that criss-crossed his back.

 

“What happened?” Theon asked quietly, gently running a hand over Robb's back. Robb could not help but flinch at his touch and Theon withdrew his hand. 

 

“It was in the dungeons of Gulltown. The punishment for petty thievery is the whip. I was caught twice, and…” His face was stony, but his voice betrayed him. Theon clasped Robb's face with both hands.  

 

“Oh, Robb. I am so sorry.” 

 

Robb smiled wryly, trying as best he could to mask the sorrow beneath. “Nothing you could do. I was a thief, Theon. I had no honour, for I sought only to survive to see another day.” He sighed, and kissed Theon's cheek. “That is all past. Can we please forget it?” Theon smiled, and pulled Robb closer too him. 

 

“I think you need to help me forget it,” he said, smirking in that way of his. It made Robb happier than he had been in months to see that smile, and he quickly pressed his lips to Theon's and in a blink they were kissing madly, starved for one another. Theon wriggled out of the rest of his clothes as quickly as he could, and flung them across the room. Grinning, he pulled Robb onto the bed, who collapsed on it laughing in a way Theon had not heard in months.

 

That night they made love slowly and carefully, and afterward, exhausted, Robb did not even bother to move from between Theon's legs, instead just laying there, listening to the beat of Theon's heart. He had survived so long for this, and it was just as sweet as he promised himself it would be. 

 

“I love you,” he admitted quietly. Theon's arms wrapped tight around him. “You know I'm not perfect, in fact, I'm a little broken, but I need you to know that I love you with all my heart.”

 

“I love you too,” Theon whispered, and Robb smiled at him. “I'm a little broken too. My father sent me a raven six days ago announcing he had disowned me as his son. I have no name, no lands, no title. I’m no better than half of these men here. But in the end, what does it matter if you’re here too? I love you Robb, and the truth is, I've loved you for a long time. I've loved you ever since that first day when you made friends with me and no one else would. Thank you for coming back to me.”

 

“You’re my home. Wherever you are, I will be there too. I love you now and I will love you always.” Robb murmured back, and felt Theon hug him tight. Together they fell asleep together, wrapped in their love for each other, and for once in a long time, Robb's dreams were untroubled. 

 

\----

 

Theon awoke early the next morning, Robb's arm draped over Theon's hip, snoring lightly. Theon stretched leisurely; he was sore, but not unpleasantly so. The room was cool; the fire had burned down in the hearth long ago. He smiled. _Robb is here_ , he thought happily to himself. _This isn't a dream. He's truly alive, and he's snoring beside me._ Theon shook Robb awake, who woke with an undignified snort. 

 

“Huh?” he said, looking around the room in confusion. “Theon?” 

 

Theon grinned. “Get up. Let's go watch the sun rise.” He slipped out of Robb's embrace and gathered his clothes which had been scattered around the room. Groggily, Robb followed suit, and Theon helped him dress. His leg had been shattered by the crossbow quarrel, and had not healed well. It would no doubt plague him for the rest of his life, but in the end it mattered not. He was safe. 

 

As they rode the winch cage to the top of the Wall, Theon realized he had ended up with Robb’s oversized jerkin and trousers, but it didn’t matter. The clothes were all black, so it was unlikely anyone would notice the difference.  

 

The stars were still in the sky as Theon peeled Robb from iron bars of the winch cage. He had not enjoyed the journey up, and would no doubt like the journey down even less. The moment he was out of the cage, however, and on to solid ground Robb was gazing wide-eyed at everything in front of him in amazement as they walked west along the Wall.

 

“There’s the Ice Dragon. That used to be your favourite star,” Theon said, pointing to the glittering star that marked the Dragon’s eye.

 

Robb smiled. “Still is. I remember when you told me that comets and shooting stars were dragons that flew amidst the stars. I believed you, you liar.”

 

“I believed it too, you know,” Theon said with a grin, but he dropped it. “When I was in Pyke I spent hours gazing at the night sky wishing I was with you. Sometimes I even pretended you were by my side. Foolish, isn’t it?” He laughed. 

 

“No, it isn’t,” Robb’s voice was quietly determined. “I thought of you too, and wondered if you were watching those same stars. I wanted you to be by my side more than anything, but I knew you needed to go back home to see your family.” Robb stopped and adjusted his grip on his stick. 

 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have stayed by your side the whole time. Then you wouldn’t have- this.” Theon sighed and kept walking, but Robb put a hand on his chest and stopped him in his tracks.

 

Robb shook his head. “Theon, we can’t think like that. We don’t know if the Freys were already planning a betrayal. Worse, it could have all gone the same way but you would have died with me at… at the wedding.” Robb’s eyes clouded over with memories and Theon held him close. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Robb’s ear. “I shouldn’t have brought that up.” He felt Robb take a few deep breaths.

 

“Don’t apologize. It’s just something I have to live with- the memories. I can only hope they will become less frequent.” Theon nodded, and hugged Robb again. 

 

The sky had begun to change colour: first dark indigo, then amethyst, and finally a light violet. It was beautiful. Robb was enraptured with the sky, and even Theon, who had watched the sun rise two dozen times at least, had to admit it was impressive. 

 

“What do you think is beyond here?” Robb asked, gesturing towards the haunted forest and the lands that lay beyond. 

 

“A lot of cold things,” Theon said, smirking. Robb elbowed him. “What? I was only answering your question.” 

 

“No, I mean what lives beyond there. Do you really think the Others are returning?” He shivered at the thought. Once, Theon would have laughed at the idea, and called Robb a baby, but he knew different. The world was becoming a far stranger place than it once had been; women played with fire the way girls played with dolls; the dead returned to fight against their friends; a man survived a cold river for hundreds of leagues. 

 

Theon nodded. “Yes. I think they are returning, and when they do, they will bring a terrible winter with them.” He reached out and took Robb's hand. “It might be tomorrow, or the day after, but truly Robb, with you by my side, I can face anything that might come our way.” He stopped as he noticed the look on Robb’s face. “You’re laughing at me! I’m trying to be sincere here and you’re-” 

 

Robb chuckled. “Oh, just shut up,” he said, and his mouth was against Theon’s and it felt as good as it had so many nights ago, the first time they kissed. As they stood on the Wall, at the end of the world, for the first time they both began to feel as though everything was right with the world, and it was the most wondrous feeling. 

 -FIN-

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey! You read this entire thing? I'm impressed. Please, leave me questions and comments. Every bit helps. Thanks!


End file.
